


Beyond Antares

by edochen



Category: Star Trek: Alternate Original Series (Movies)
Genre: M/M, Romance, War
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-22
Updated: 2017-07-14
Packaged: 2018-04-05 15:47:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 12
Words: 32,589
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4185636
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/edochen/pseuds/edochen
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>On Vulcan Space Dock everyone goes to McCoy's. A place to drink and to forget about the miseries of the Second Federation-Klingon War. </p><p>The Federation is losing, the galaxy in chaos.  </p><p>None of that matters to Leonard McCoy until Jim shows up one day, accompanied by none other than the infamous Christopher Pike.</p><p>Sometimes there's just too much water under that damned bridge. </p><p>The Casablanca AU that no one asked for.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Casablanca AU updated once a week (since I already wrote the whole thing...sort of).

Stardate 2254. The Klingon Empire invaded the Archanis Sector, ending the cessation of hostilities between Klingons and the Federation also known as the Nine Year’s Truce. The Second Federation-Klingon War had begun, and inhabitants of already occupied Federation planets turned they eyes desperately to their beloved Earth. From colonies all over the galaxy a refugee trail sprang up. As the Vulcans once again preferred a neutral position in the conflict, many of these trails ended indefinitely at Vulcan Space Dock. There, the people waited for a ship that would bring them back home.

** <_\\__o__  _\\__1__  _\\__o__> **

A message had just been transmitted: two Klingon couriers carrying a valuable object were murdered on a ship from Aldus Prime. Through reliable sources it was rumored to have found its way to Vulcan Space Dock.

Hence the entire procession of Klingon men that docked there.

It had not been to Spock’s taste, even though he stood there watching the military convoy, his hands on his back and his mien giving no evidence of his dismay.

He also hadn’t found it necessary to overtly acknowledge the two Klingon officers that exited the shuttle at last, despite being followed by none other than major Koloth.

Kroth, however, proudly (though for Klingons there were very little other ways, Spock considered) stepped forward to greet his superior commander.

“nuqneH!” he said, which roughly translated to the Standard equivalent of ‘what do you want?’.

Major Koloth seemed pleased by the appropriate greeting, and looked at Spock appraisingly, half expecting him to do the same. He didn’t, and waited for the major to speak.

“He is Spock,” Kroth explained to the major. “Captain of Vulcan Space Dock.”

“Indeed,” Spock replied, not raising his voice in the preposterous manner Kroth had done. “If you would follow me.”

Spock and major Koloth left the dock, followed by half a dozen Klingon soldiers, whose arms and heavy boots produced a stalwart rhythming sound.

Spock disliked it. Not that Vulcans were in any ways possessive of their investigations or some such. However, there was very little reason to believe that a Klingon investigation would warrant the same results as a Vulcan one. The very idea was, quite frankly, preposterous. Yet in the name of neutrality his superiors had deemed it necessary to grant this favor to the Klingons. The chance to conduct their own investigation and search for their stolen object.

It had all been logical but highly inefficient.

The major was determined to always be one step ahead of Spock, whilst at the same time having no idea where he was going. Spock thought it wise not to comment on this absurd display either.

In fact, his captaincy of Vulcan Star Base had made him quite tolerable of the more base species of the galaxy. At the moment, Vulcan Star Base had been the most diverse it had ever been.

They had all flocked towards Vulcan at some point, seeking asylum, however temporary. Not wishing to believe that their stay would be long.

Since the end of the Nine Year’s Truce it had become difficult to send ships out into space again, what with the chaos all about the Alpha Quadrant. Soldiers, both Federation and Klingon, Orion slavers, merchants of dubious origin…

War came with so many disadvantages, Spock never understood why anyone would ever wager it.

The solution was peace, obviously. But how was it to be obtained? There were so many illogical incentives in war that even that was a question Spock could not determinedly answer. He knew the odds of each outcome very well, the Klingons were very well represented.

Still, there was a part of Spock that wasn’t all that pleased with the outcome of his own logical mind.

Spock and the major entered the promenade, and the officers made way through the crowd. They were eyed with fear, others looked at them in disgust.

Spock’s eyes rested to one of the tiny bars along the way. Three hours and twenty minutes before one of his officers had arrested a young human there. The man had been unable to identify himself. His officer had easily subjugated him and the man had been sent to where he had come from. This was protocol, simple rules to ensure the safety of the other people residing on Star Base. Sometimes, this was also a death sentence.

From the non-silence in the promenade, major Koloth suddenly spoke. “The murder of the Klingon couriers, what has been done?” he asked.

“We have located the whereabouts of your stolen property,” Spock replied, not wishing to divulge further. The murderer had been found, but not before he had ended his own life.

“You know where it is? Why have you not arrested this man?” Koloth yelled, though his anger was more directed at Kroth than Spock. The Klingons often preferred speaking to kinfolk, whoever else may be in charge.

“I did not deem it necessary. Tonight he’ll be at McCoys’s,” Spock explained. “It is very popular here in Space Dock.”

“I have heard of the name before,” Koloth said.

“Then you are one of many,” Spock replied.

 


	2. Chapter 2

** <_\\__o__  _\\__2__  _\\__o__> **

At the very end of the promenade, gold, neon letters marked the entrance of the most popular establishment in Vulcan Space Dock. McCoy’s Terran Café.

Positively everyone went to McCoy’s. The cafés interior had a certain authenticity to it, which lured a great number of species to its door. Though for the humans especially, McCoy’s felt like a distant home. The mahogany tabletops, lantern lit rooms and old casino games did feel like Earth, like _home_.

Many of them had not seen home for a very long time, and McCoy’s was always the next best thing. The sound of a simple piano, a rosewood ancient thing, filling the rooms, accompanied by a company of brass and strings.

McCoy’s had a feeling of homesickness to itself. In that sense, perhaps, McCoy’s wasn’t the most cheerful of places. Then again, there weren’t a whole lot of cheerful places left in the Alpha Quadrant to begin with. And misery still loved company, and the easiest way to forget about misfortunes was to drink it away.

So that’s exactly what one did at McCoy’s. As M’Benga sang devil may care lyrics while he played the ivory keys as if it were second nature.

There, at McCoy’s, the people smiled and forgot about life.

Every night, these people, these _happy/miserable_ people, were observed from a small table that looked right at the entrance of the casino. There sat Leonard McCoy, with a glass of authentic bourbon whiskey in his hand he sipped form occasionally  while he wrote checks and ordered his staff around. There were not many who paid him any notice, and he believed it imperative that he pay no notice to anyone else in return. Though the newcomers often asked the same questions when they saw the man seated there, watching, drinking in solitude. Questions that mostly went unanswered, not a lot was known about McCoy, other than that he had fought in the war and lived.

New customers entered the casino, and his doorman Giotto was obliged to first look McCoy’s way for approval. Leonard gave a slight nod, and the Cantauran couple entered.

A couple of days before, a Klingon officer tried to do the same thing, but was promptly shown the door, no questions asked. The officer, natural to his nature, had not accepted no as an answer quite that easily, and had nearly barricaded himself by the door. Listening patiently at the threatening tirade the officer had expressed, McCoy showed him the door anyway. That was the kind of man McCoy was.

Though this day, another man, a much more vile man, stood by the casino door.

Giotto walked up to him leaning over as he said: “Sir, Mudd wishes to speak with you.”

“Send him home,” Leonard had replied.

“He says it’s urgent, sir. _Very_ urgent.”

Leonard glanced at the door and noticed that Mudd, even for his wormy appearance, did not look himself tonight. He seemed…anxious.

“All right,” Leonard replied and beckoned Mudd to come closer, whose relieved smile boded nothing but ill will.

“Leonard,” he spoke amiably, his arms up as if meeting an old friend, he sidestepped Giotto’s intimidating form and raised a glass of red wine which he undoubtedly hadn’t paid for.

Mudd sat down, and spoke with an unmovable smile. “I have heard you have rejected yet another Klingon official from your establishment. It’s risky business in my opinion, but amiable, yes, amiable is the word. You’re a man of integrity. I’ve always said so, Leo. It’s admirable, very admirable. Even more so in these trying times.”

Leonard nodded at Giotto, so he could walk back to his post. “What do you want, Mudd?” he asked impatiently.

Mudd let out a loud, affected, laugh. “Always to the point, Leo. What makes you think that I have not simply come here to speak to a friend. For old time’s sake.”

“Because we’re not friends,” Leonard replied, closing the PADD carrying his expenses and putting it away from Mudd’s reach.

“Are we not?” Mudd said surprised. “When you first came here I believed we shared a drink or two. Hadn’t we?”

“I don’t remember,” Leonard replied disinterestedly, standing up. Not to his surprise Mudd did the same, and followed him closely while he surveyed the tables.

“McCoy.” Mudd said in his lowest voice. His earring reflecting the lights of the room as it jingled from side to side.  Mudd made a couple of nonsensical sounds, like he was finding the words that just didn’t quite fit. Until he stood in front of Leonard, blocking his path, and said with an even lower voice. “Have you heard about those Klingon couriers?”

McCoy stared at Mudd. “Everyone has,” he replied.

“Of course, of course they have. I simply wanted to know whether you had or hadn’t. I know how you are with gossip, Leonard. I simply thought that with rumors like this you’d want to be involved as little as possible.”

“You’re right,” Leonard replied, stepping away from Mudd and back to his table. Mudd, however, caught him off again.

“ _However,_ ” Mudd continued. “There is some information, crucial information, Leonard, you understand. That I wish to discuss with you, _privately_.”

Leonard rolled his eyes, he pushed Mudd aside and sat down by his little table. He watched as Mudd pulled up a chair of his own and sat down next to him.

“As I said, it is tragic what has happened to those men, Leo. Absolutely tragic.”

“From what I’ve heard, they died in battle. Sounds like a Klingon wish come true to me.”

Mudd, who had not expected that answer, faltered a little before smiling again. “Yes, I guess you’re right,” he said as he tried to reach for the bottle of bourbon, which Leonard promptly placed out of reach as well.

“Speak, Mudd.” 

“Right, of course,” Mudd replied with a nervous little laugh. Then sotto voce he continued his story.

“Those Klingon couriers, do you know where they had come from, Leonard?”

“Aldus Prime.”

“And where they were going?”

“Axanar.”

“And what were they carrying?”

“Something war related,” Leonard replied. “Mudd, if you’ve come here to gossip, I suggest you do it elsewhere.”

Mudd’s smile finally disappeared. “Why do you always treat me with such hostility, Leonard?” he asked.

“I distrust you,” Leonard replied simply. “And in the years you haven’t done much to remedy that concern.”

Mudd sat upright in his chair, and then he leaned over even closer. “I have always been nothing but a businessman. You know that.”

“You’re a swindler and a thief, Mudd,” Leonard replied. “Thinking nothing of lying and cheating to get what you want.”

“War makes people desperate.”

Leonard scoffed. “Does it now?” he asked. “Something tells me you’ve been this particular brand of businessman all your life.”

“But it _is_ business, Leonard. Honest work, hard bargains, business. Can I give you some advice, one businessman to the next?”

“Go on then.”

“These poor men and women, they come to me Leonard. Desperate and tired, and I help them, don’t I. I slip them away from this place, right under the Captain’s very nose. Why, without me, they’d all be rotting away in this place.”

Leonard glanced at Mudd. “You’re not exactly doing it for free.”

Having gained Leonard’s attention back, Harry Mudd smiled again. “But I offer the best price. And that’s a Mudd guarantee.”

With newfound confidence Mudd took another attempt at the bottle of Bourbon Leonard had set aside, and Leonard allowed him to fill his glass. “Besides, after tonight, I, Harry Mudd, will be ready to make an honest living and leave this Spacedock for good.”

Which was the most intriguing words Mudd had ever spoken to Leonard, who raised a brow in return. “For a fair price, I hope?”

Mudd combed, or rather stroked, a hand over his balding head. “Why, of course.” Then, out of the blue, he took a blue card from his person, placed it on the table, and pushed it towards Leonard.

“Do you know what this is?” he asked smugly.

Leonard eyed the blue card, but didn’t dare touch it. “Even you wouldn’t be so stupid, Mudd,” he said with a eerily calm voice. “And if you know what’s good for you, you’ll take that card away from sight, and as far away from your possession as possible.”

“That’s exactly why I have come to you,” Mudd replied, pushing the card back so that it was covered by the palm of his fat hand. He smirked when he saw that he now had Leonard’s undivided attention. “Tonight, I’ll sell this for more than I have ever dreamed of, Leonard. I’ll become a king.”

His eyes turned suddenly very hungry, as if the item under his hand wasn’t already in his sole possession. “And tonight, after I’ve become richer than a king, I will leave this Spacedock for good. And I’d like for you to join me, Leonard.”

Leonard stared at Mudd for a second, before he let out a laugh that lacked humor.

Mudd was not so easily deterred. “I don’t know very much about you, Leo. But I like you. So, I’m telling you there are rumors.”

“Rumors?”

“Yes, rumors involving you and a very lucrative Orion smuggling ring.”

“Is that so?”

Mudd nodded. “But you can leave it all behind you, Leo. Think about it, together we could get richer than we could’ve ever dreamed of. Richer than we could’ve ever imagined. What do you say?” Mudd held his hand out to Leonard, who recoiled as if it were a trotter.

“I know I’ve said it many times before, Mudd. But this time, you’re in way over your head,” Leonard replied. “Did you kill those Klingons?”

“Of course not,” Mudd replied.

“No, I imagine you didn’t. But look, the Klingons ain’t gonna care what you did and didn’t do. You stole something from them, dishonorably. And they’ll kill you for it.”

“They won’t if they don’t find out,” Mudd replied, still sounding sure of himself. “See, I’ll hide it, until the right buyer comes along.”

“What if said buyer never comes along?”

“But he will be, that’s what I’ve been trying to tell you. He will be, here, tonight.”

“Bless your heart,” McCoy muttered. “Shall I point out the three Vulcan officers sitting in this café right now? You think they aren’t going to search you at least once tonight? Are you really that stupid?”

Mudd’s clammy hand moved forward, at Leonard. “That’s why I need you to keep it safe for me, Leonard. Just for a little while.”

“Forget it.”

“Please,” Mudd raised his voice but only momentarily. “Please. You won’t even notice it’s here. And it’ll be over by tonight. Come tonight, you won’t have to see me again. I’ll be out in the galaxy. Harcourt Mudd, ‘the wealthy’, will be out of here.”

Mudd had raised his hand from the card, and Leonard took it and placed it in the inner pocket of his jacket. “Just for tonight,” he said.

Mudd sighed, and his shoulders, loosed down as he sat back in his chair again. “That’s all I need.” Then, he stood up with his drink still in his hand, suddenly without a care in the world and waving credits in the air. “Now if you’ll excuse me, luck favors the bold.” He walked off to the roulette table.

Leonard moved back into the main dining area, where M’Benga was playing the piano. He crossed the room and saw how Philip Boyce entered, looking around.

Boyce was an old acquaintance of Leonard, he had known him before moving to Vulcan Space Dock, and now withheld a little friendly rivalry with him through a café of his own: The Pink Tribble. Despite its silly name it was the breeding place for the least trustworthy at Space Dock. Though that was _his_ business and not McCoy’s, and they had always kept a rather civil relationship, if not a little distant.

Boyce came to McCoy’s about every other night, a courtesy which Leonard never reciprocated. He’d sit at his regular spot by the bar, ordered a martini and would listen to M’Benga play. His wrinkle ridden face oddly content in the midst of so many unahppy people.

Boyce always seemed rather untouched by the proclivities of war.

In that too, Leonard and Boyce were very different.

M’Benga stopped playing and gracefully accepted the ensuing applause. Then Boyce stood up and came up to Leonard to rehash the one conversation they’d had many times before.

They spoke quietly, and from the outside, no one could ever guess the topic of conversation.

“McCoy,” Boyce said, nodding his head at Leonard.

Leonard returned the gesture. “Boyce. How’s business at The Pink Tribble?”

“Can’t complain.” Boyce replied. “But I’m not interested in selling, McCoy. I thought you already knew that.” He smiled, and the wrinkles around his eyes revealed themselves as ones of laughter, not worry.

“Well, you know me. Any moment to rid of the competition is a good a time as any.”

Boyce let out a little scoff. “I thought you weren’t much of a businessman,” he said, walking with Leonard through the café as they spoke.

“Now there’s no need to listen to all the rumors you hear around here, Philip,” Leonard replied. “Besides, I don’t come into your place every other day, just waiting for me to proposition you a good price.”

Boyce raised both his brows, and a whole different set of wrinkles appeared. “I come because I give you the best martini stock on the dock, son,” he lied easily. “and if you do feel so inclined to proposition anyone, perhaps you should get into the habit of accepting them in return?”

“I like a good deal as much as the next man. And I know a bad deal when I see one.” Leonard replied, stopping so he could look at Boyce. “Yours is a pretty raw deal, Phil.”

Boyce paused for a bit, and Leonard knew it well. It was the same silence he’d used to get the truth out of his patients. However, Boyce had a far more graceful mastery of it, and Leonard suspected that Boyce used these single moments of clarity to peek into a person’s most private thoughts.

When Boyce at last spoke, he was calmer and more solemn than before. “There is a high demand for human specialists in the field, Leonard,” he said, ignoring the scowl that appeared on Leonard’s face of the mention of the war spoken so audibly in his café. The ears of those auditory sensitive Vulcans ever listening.

Leonard clenched his jaw before he spoke. “I thought you treated humans just fine yourself.”

Boyce smirked. “So I did, but unfortunately I have retired. I have thrown my rod of Asclepius into the proverbial fire, if you do not mind the ancient reference.”

Leonard snorted. “That makes two of us.”

“And if I am to believe him, Mr. M’Benga makes three,” Boyce replied, his voice trailing off as his eyes skimmed the room in a ridiculous play act. “Speaking of which…where is that piano man of yours?”

Leonard nodded to where M’Benga was sitting, and M’Benga, who had already spotted Boyce, stopped talking to the other band members and gave Leonard a knowing look.

They walked towards M’Benga, who stood up politely, holding his hand up for Boyce.

“Mr. Boyce,” he said, shaking Boyce’s hand. “How may I help you, sir.”

Boyce did not let go of M’Benga’s hand. “The same offer still stands Jabilo. You know we could use someone like you, I’m sure you understand.” He gave a little side nod to Leonard who stood next to him, watching him. “And talk to this stubborn fool while you’re at it.”

“Still not interested, sir,” M’Benga said, with considerably more grace than Leonard could ever muster up.

As always, Boyce was unimpressed. “Perhaps next time then.” He sighed. “There was once a time when a simple command from your senior medical officer would do the trick. The best of times.”

“And the worst of times,” M’Benga finished with a slight smirk. “I hope there are no hard feelings.”

Boyce shook his head. “Not at all. In fact, I’ll share a piece of information with the both of you, to evidence to the fact. See, I’ve heard…rumors. Something very interesting is going to happen in this café tonight. I don’t know the particulars, but best be on your toes.”

“We always are,” Leonard replied, but his attention was towards the Vulcan captain gracing him with his presence. Spock glanced at Leonard and gave him a slight nod before moving back into the promenade.

“Excuse me,” Leonard said, moving to follow.

Outside, Spock was looking out one of the observatory windows. Another ship was leaving dock.

Leonard stood next to him. “Something tells me you aren’t here to drink.”

“I’m not,” Spock replied.

“But you’re watching starships,” Leonard said, with arched brows. “Why? Want to be on one?”

“I don’t,” Spock said, his eyes still on the freight ship leaving. “There is nothing of interest outside of space dock.”

“There’s something for you here?”

Spock gave Leonard a look, arching his own brows. “My duties,” Spock his tone vaguely condescending. “I wish to keep peace within this dock.”

“That’s right, that good old Vulcan neutrality,” Leonard said. “How’s that been going for y’all?”

“Is that a rhetorical question, McCoy?” Spock asked, the corners of his mouth twisting almost to a smile.

“I wouldn’t dare, Spock.”

“I see. We Vulcans believe that peace can only be attained through patience and compromise.”

“ _Particularly_ compromise.”

Spock had his hands on his back, his form just as stiff and unmoving as his personality. But he looked at Leonard from the side of his eyes that only reminded Leonard of a kind of human haughtiness. “I find it peculiar that you have such a strong opinion on the matter, considering your earlier admissions of indifference on the issue. May I ask why you are not on one of the ships leaving for Earth?”

McCoy chuckled. “Why would I?” he said with a slight smirk. “The Captain himself just told me there is nothing of interest outside of Space dock.”

Even Spock could look annoyed at times, and Leonard had no shame to admit that he found pleasure in being the cause. Of all emotional beings, Spock believed humans to be the most illogical. If McCoy were to make a gamble, and he had a knack for it nowadays, he’d say Spock believed McCoy to be the most illogical of all.

If the Captain hadn’t been so Vulcan he’d be irritated.

Instead Spock paused briefly and changed to subject.

“I’ve come here to inform you that there will be an arrest in your café tonight, McCoy. A thief.”

“Knock yourself out,” Leonard replied. “It’s your station.”

“You do not wish for me to reveal his identity,” Spock most definitely didn’t ask.

Leonard snorted. “That’s because I don’t care,” he said, the disdain a little too bitter on his tongue.

“You fascinate me, McCoy. I believe that you care a great deal.”

“Then you’re wrong.”

“My beliefs are based on facts. They are hardly ever _wrong_.”

Leonard let out a laugh. “Oh, this I need to hear. All right Spock, give me those cold, hard, facts you love so much.”

“You have provided medical aid on Axanar.”  

“Incidental, I was drafted you know?”

“That is a technicality,” Spock answered.

“I thought you Vulcans embraced those.”

“You have also fought in the battle for Alpha Centauri Was this also incidental?”

“No, _that_ was a mistake,” Leonard said. He cleared his throat. “One I learned from.”

“Very well,” Spock relented. “Then it will not interest you that a prominent member of the resistance is currently making his way to Spacedock. A human, Christopher Pike.”

Had he tried, Leonard would still not have been able to hide the surprise in his voice. “Christopher Pike?” Then he leveled his voice. “The whole damn galaxy’s interested in him, Spock. What’s he coming here for?”

“Information.”

“About what?”

“I do not know.”

Leonard scoffed again. “Then take a guess.”

“Vulcans do not guess.”

Leonard knew Spock quite well, but understood next to nothing of him.

Spock was captain in title alone. First and foremost he was an ambassador. Stationed at the dock by the Federation’s request and necessarily so, as Leonard doubted that a man such as Spock, who was half-human would even be granted such a high position if there weren’t at least some higher-ups pulling at the strings.

Whenever change occurred during times of war there was always an ulterior motive involved. Leonard didn’t know the specifics of it but it had something to do with a human, or in Spock’s case someone who barely passed as one, being the poster boy for peaceful cohabitation between species.

He felt sorry for Spock sometimes, who was truly between two sides. Not an ally to the humans, never truly accepted by the Vulcans either.

A Vulcan officer who just excited the café approached the both of them. “Captain. The major is inside.”

Leonard hadn’t noticed the Klingons enter the café and when Leonard and Spock both entered again, they were already there. Seated by, what they probably believed to be, the best tables.

The arrest Spock was planning to make was of course meticulously planned. So that when Spock had entered the room two Vulcan officers easily stood by the entrance blocking the way. Leonard guessed all the doors to his café were guarded. He took a glance around the room but none of the customers seemed to notice the change of atmosphere. His staff however did, and it seemed that every one of his employees looked at him with held breath.

Spock, who knew there would be no possibility of his arrest failing, sat down by the table with the major. Leonard made his way to the gambling room, only now realizing just who it was who was being arrested. Giotto wasn’t even at the door, probably dismissed by the officers as well.

He did not hear the conversation between Mudd and the officer that had nudged him by the shoulder, but he’d seen the dreaded smile on Mudd’s face and the sweat that started to form on his brow. Harry Mudd accompanied by the officer moved to cash in his credits, stalling the inevitable. Of course he knew there was no way out, he knew he was done for. Leonard turned and walked back to the main room, and would’ve closed the door behind him if he didn’t hear the high pitched scream of a woman.

He turned and saw Mudd, who had, with all his strength and desperation managed to push the officer off his feet and then began running for the door, shoving stools and tables and even people away. Leonard stepped out of the way but Mudd wouldn’t have it. He grabbed the front of Leonard shirt with tight fists and shook him twice.

“Leo,” he said, gleeking. “Help me.”

Leonard grabbed Mudd’s hand by the wrists. “There’s nothing I can do.” From his peripherals he could already see the officers approaching.

Mudd wouldn’t have it, had to be pried from Leonard’s hands until one of the Vulcans pinched him in the neck and he was gone.

Leonard didn’t say a word. He just beheld the scene as if it was beyond him, almost as if he wasn’t really there.

Mudd was gone, probably forever.

A shocked silence became the room, even among the people who must have seen dozens of arrests by now.

Then M’Benga began to play the piano again, as he always did, until shortly the chatter began livening up again. The people forgetting their misery, just as they’d wanted to.

Still utterly detached Leonard walked by the tables to the bar, passing the Klingon’s table by mistake. When he realized that he was being introduced by Kroth it was already too late.

“McCoy, this is major Koloth,” Kroth said. “He demanded you join us.”

Leonard raised his brow at the choice of words, but knew better than to comment on it, even in his own establishment. So he sat down and clenched his jaw, lest he said something stupid.

“Major Koloth is one of the most highly esteemed men of the Klingon Empire,” Kroth said, and looked at Leonard as if he expected him to be impressed.

“Charmed, I s’pose,” Leonard muttered.

“The major, has some questions for you McCoy,” Kroth continued with a more severe tone. “You will answer them.”

Leonard side-eyed Spock. He was sitting ramrod straight and his expression was completely unreadable. The bastard.

“Go ahead,” Leonard said.

Major Koloth’s voice was deep and hostile even in his most simple dialogue. “You are a human.”

“More or less,” Leonard replied with a shrug. “My ex-wife had a different opinion on the matter.”

Spock turned towards the major. “Mr. McCoy is a master of Terran wit,” he explained, earning a swift glare from Leonard.

“I was born in Atlanta, Georgia. That’s the south of north America, if y’all now it.”

“And you have come here from Axanar.”

“I’ve been around, yeah,” Leonard replied impatiently. “Had a few other stops along the way.”   

“Alpha Centauri.” Kroth smiled unpleasantly, it was the only kind of smile he knew. “You must know that is now Klingon territory.”

Leonard frowned. “Yes, I’m aware. I was there when you bombed the whole damn city to the ground.”

“Then you have witnessed the unstoppable force of the Klingon Empire.”

“What, you want a medal? Because where I’m from we don’t congratulate people for being able to kill well.” The Klingons seated around the table had all bared their teeth like wolves, but Leonard merely snorted. “Why, any fool with a stick or a big rock can kill, it’s the fixing up that’s the hard part.”

Major Koloth slammed the table, and nearly all the glasses on top toppled over, expensive drinks spilling on the ground. Leonard didn’t flinch.

“If you are concerned for his well-being, I would suggest you teach this man some respect,” the major said to Spock as if he had some power over the matter.

Leonard felt pleased with the unfazed manner in which Spock placed the glasses upright on the table. “Even someone as forward as McCoy has freedom of speech under Vulcan law. No matter how impertinent his phrasing.”

The major was obviously not satisfied with Spock’s reply, but to Leonard’s surprise, did not press any further. Perhaps they’d sent the most patient of Klingons their way.

“Now I don’t think you’ve called me here for my company,” Leonard said, growing weary of the Klingons, and a bit suspicious of Spock, who was acting more sympathetic than usual.

Spock was the one who replied. “The major wished to speak to you on the matter of Christopher Pike,” he said. “The Klingons believe that the man is headed for this café, and they are determined to apprehend him when he does.”

“I don’t tolerate murders in my café,” Leonard replied.

“Nor do the Vulcans. The Klingons have given their word of honor that they too will keep Christopher Pike alive as long as he is under my custody. And for as long as he will be in Space Dock he will be just that.”

“So you’re putting him in jail then?”

“I do not think it necessary. He cannot leave Spacedock without my permission and I have no reason to grant it.”

“Then what are you summoning me for when the man’s basically a sitting duck?”

“Pike is resourceful in his own right and, as you humans say, necessity is the mother of invention,” Spock said. “I believe that Pike may try his luck in this establishment. I do not want you to offer help to him.”

Leonard shook his head. “Not planning to,” he replied. “Now if you’ll excuse me. I have neither the mind nor the patience for interplanetary politics. Good evening.” He stood up and without looking back made his way to the casino-room, away from the Klingon and away from Spock whose emotionless observation vexed Leonard just as much as the Klingons did.

****


	3. Chapter 3

** <_\\__o__  _\\__3__  _\\__o__> **

He was a middle-aged man whose years of hardship had revealed themselves in his appearance but not in an unkind manner. He had spots of grey in his hair, and lines of laughter and worry along his mouth and brows, but there was still a bright look of tenaciousness in his eyes that many men often lost in their road to late adulthood. Christopher Pike had the kind of charisma about him that could make men and women hang at his every word. A strength he often played at.

The misconception was that whoever stood next to Christopher Pike would involuntarily grow inferior in the man’s effortless charm. Yes, for a particularly foul Ferengi or a disagreeable Tellarite this would’ve undoubtedly held true, but Jim Kirk was none of those things. Jim Kirk was handsome and young and bold, bolder than Pike even, and that wasn’t even his most distinguishing trait. Around Jim Kirk there was always that great air of promise, as if there was just so many things that this young man _could_ become.

This night not many noticed them entering the café but the ones who were sitting close by the door. Not many recognized him, not even the waiter who led them both to their table. But when they walked by the piano, M’Benga noticed the boy right away, and he looked for as long as he could because he couldn’t believe it at first. And when he knew for certain that he wasn’t dreaming, he hoped at least in his heart that he was mistaken.

Pike followed their waiter with head held high and eyes level, but Jim could do no such thing. He was anxious for the both of them, stood closely to Pike’s side and in front of him so as if to shield him from everyone and everything. He was still sizing up the room when Pike ordered two Acamarian brandy’s.

“I don’t see anyone matching Mudd’s description,” Jim said with a low voice. “But those Klingons in the corner look familiar.”

Pike didn’t visibly react to Jim but followed his gaze to where Spock and the major were sitting. “That’s major Koloth of the third fleet and officer Kroth. They must’ve heard of me coming here.”

Jim’s shoulders tensed. “Then we should leave.”

“That would only draw attention, Jim. There’s a gambling room, perhaps Mudd is there.”

Jim wasn’t convinced of it, in fact he still opposed the very idea of them coming to Space Dock in the first place. Klingons were not the type of species known for their docile nature and who was to say they wouldn’t stick a spear through Pike’s heart when given the chance?

He very nearly overreacted when a dark haired man approached them.

“Excuse me,” the man said, his attention more on Jim than on Pike. Jim recognized the Starfleet Academy ring tied around his neck almost immediately. For a man to wear it so openly at a place where Klingons were present was very risky, but it did serve its purpose.

“You look familiar,” Jim said. “California?”

“San Francisco,” the man replied with a smile. He sat down next to Pike and without taking his eyes off Jim, who smirked back he began addressing Pike.

“My name is Hikaru Sulu. At your service, sir,” Sulu said.

“Nice to meet you, Sulu,” Christopher replied. “Say, why don’t I meet you at the bar in a few minutes?”

“Fine idea, sir.” Sulu took Jim’s glass off the table and made his way to the bar.

Just in time, as Captain Spock approached their table, glancing in the general direction Sulu had disappeared in for a beat or two, before walking all the way up to them.

Jim knew Captain Spock by name alone, and had tried for a long time to get an idea of what a man with a reputation such as his might look like. A green-blooded human was rare, perhaps he was the only one of his kind. Not that such matters bothered Jim. He did wonder just how isolating such a trait was for a Vulcan. Just how much Spock’s inherent need to be perfect was a Vulcan logical trait, or a flawed human one based on illogical desire.

The way he stood before him by their table he was completely unreadable. Which, to Jim, said a lot.

“Christopher Pike,” Spock said with a nod to Chris, who looked up expectantly.

“I am Captain Spock,” Spock continued. “I wish to welcome you to Vulcan Space Dock.”

“Hm, yes,” Pike replied, standing up so he could shake Spock’s hand. His eyes darted to the Klingons and back. “Something tells me my timing was a bit off.”

Spock did not need to turn around to know who Pike spoke of. “The major and I have made an agreement that on Vulcan Space Dock the Vulcan philosophy stands.”

“Ah,” Pike replied with a smirk. “Non-violent engagements with the Klingons. Very admirable.”

“Thank you.”

They all sat down. Spock now turning his attention to Jim.

“You must be James Tiberius Kirk,” Spock said.

“I am,” Jim replied. He had grown a bit less tense at Spock’s assurance but was by no means letting his guard down.

“Then I must commend you on your dissertation. A very promising study of housing civilians on fleet Starships,” Spock said. “It is a pity you were never able to finish your research.”

“The initial design is now used to accommodate weapons on old cruisers,” Jim replied. But these were one of the subjects he’d rather not talk about. Before the war began he had dreamt that families could join their loved ones on year-long expeditions, not for stocking a handful of photon torpedoes.

He turned his attention back on his surroundings and caught sight of someone oddly familiar.

“The guy playing the piano…who is he?” Jim asked Spock as he watched the man playing, trying to delve into his memory just to make sure he wasn’t mistaken.

“His name is M’Benga,” Spock replied. “He is a friend of Mr. McCoy.”

Jim looked at Spock. “McCoy?”

“This is his establishment,” Spock explained. “As for McCoy, I believe you humans would describe him as a cynic. I personally find him very emotional, even for human standards.”

“I see,” Jim said, but his voice stuttered as if he had missed a step on a set of stairs. The spectrum of human emotion was puzzling and sometimes even exasperating for Spock.

Spock couldn’t dwell on his thoughts, Major Koloth approached them, for once not accompanied by officer Kroth.

Spock stood up again to greet him. “May I present to you Christopher Pike and James Tiberius Kirk.”

Pike and Jim remained seated, and for a hesitative second the major was not being acknowledged at all. When Pike spoke his tone was so different from moments before he could very well have been a different person. “Yes, I am well acquainted with the major.” Pike looked at Koloth. “It was on Rura Penthe.”

The major smiled. “Yes, that was not too long ago.”

“A memory still fresh in my mind,” Pike replied coolly. “You understand I’m not so thrilled to see a Klingon again so soon.”

“But it is a sight you must get used to, Captain Pike.” The major’s smile widened until he bared almost all his teeth. “After all, it won’t be long before all of the Alpha quadrant will be part of the Klingon Empire.”

“An honor, I’m sure,” Pike replied. “But I haven’t asked for the privilege, nor have my people.”

“Then they will learn to see it as such,” Koloth said, and with every word his veneer of pleasant demeanor, which was paper-thin, began to falter.

Pike stood up, controlled and slow, but with a daring expression that Jim, who had remained quiet, had mirrored.

Spock thought it wise to stay upright as well.“Perhaps this is best discussed in my own office tomorrow,” he proposed.

Pike didn’t sit until Jim placed a hand on his shoulder, but even as he sat back down Pike did not break eye-contact with the major. “Captain’s orders,” he said, a sigh in his breath. He took his glass and toasted the major.

“So it seems,” Koloth muttered back. Undoubtedly insulted by Spock’s attempt to diffuse the situation the major left the table before any more ‘pleasantries’ could be exchanged.

To Jim’s relief, Spock excused himself from the table as well. Giving him the chance to speak freely.

“We shouldn’t have come here,” he said.

“There was nowhere else to go,” Pike replied.

“What about Earth?” Jim asked. “The fleet would’ve given you your ship back. We could’ve –”

“Risked the end of the impasse back on Deneva,” Pike interjected. “And I don’t like the odds of us both making it to Earth alive.”

“There are plenty of people who would make sure you would,” Jim protested. “Hundreds who’d risk their lives for you.”

“It’s not me I’m worried about,” Pike replied, his voice still low even as Jim’s raised.

“You happen the be the only one who doesn’t.”

One of Jim’s hands was clamped over the fabric of his trousers, and Pike put his hand on top. “There’s not a lot of people to trust when your life also hangs in the balance.” He softly squeezed Jim’s hand. “We’ve been through worse, Jim, we’ll make it out of this one.”

Jim made an annoyed sound but untangled his fingers. Pike smirked. “Wait here.”

“Yeah, alright,” Jim said gruffly.

He watched as Pike made his way to the man called Hikaru Sulu, who was patiently waiting at the bar.

The lights in the room dimmed except one, and the piano started playing again.

It had been a while since Jim had seen a piano, let alone one so old. Though, the instrument was only as good as the person playing it, and the man at the piano was magnificent. M’Benga had always been a magnificent piano player.

He stood up from his seat and walked up to M’Benga. He looked anxious to Jim, but Jim could not help but smile at the sight of his old friend.

“Hello, Jabilo,” he said, with the most relaxed smile he’d made in a while.

“Hey, Jim,” M’Benga replied. “Didn’t expect to see you here, of all places.”

“Yeah, funny how that happens.”

“The stars above us,” M’Benga replied, one hand hovering in the air and a good-natured tone in his voice. “They govern our conditions.”

“I’d like to think so,” Jim said. “Say, could you play some of the old songs for me?”

“Sure.”

Standing by the piano, Jim listened to M’Benga play. Each note taking him back to another memory, perhaps not any of them happy at the time, but melancholy did great deal of good things to moments of the past.

“Where’s Bones?” Jim asked.

“Haven’t seen him today.”

“Will he be here tonight?”

M’Benga shook his head. “I don’t think so.”  

“Even though it’s his café?” Jim replied, smirking with an arched brow. “Doesn’t that sound a bit off to you?”

M’Benga stopped playing and turned to Jim. “Leave him alone, Jim. Staying here won’t do any of you good.”

Jim’s smile disappeared, but otherwise looked undeterred. “Play Beyond Antares for me.”

M’Benga sighed and shook his head, his fingers were on the ivories but he didn’t move.

“Unless the stars aren’t properly aligned for the occasion of course,” Jim said with a laugh. “I’ll be at that table, listening, if you change your mind.”

Jim turned to move back to his own table, noticed how Christoper Pike had returned to the table after a brief conversation at the bar and was accompanied by Spock once again.

He smiled when he heard the familiar song grace his ears after so long a time.

Meanwhile, in the casino room Leonard could hear M’Benga’s voice, and the melody coming from the piano.

Most likely if the song had been played on the other side of Space Dock Leonard would’ve still heard it.

He almost ran to the other room, almost willing to strangle M’Benga if that would make him stop.

It was the way M’Benga immediately turned to the young man at the table that made him notice that something was very wrong. Leonard’s heart seemed to stop for a second at the sight.

Of course Jim would find him.

For Leonard, time came to that eerie little standstill that only happens when meeting a devastating fate. But god, the galaxy loved to kick him when he was down.

“Mr. McCoy,” Spock began. “May I present to you—“

“Jim.” Leonard interjected. “Jim Kirk.”

“Hello, Leonard.”

Spock arched his brow. “I wasn’t aware you were acquainted. I believe you had not met Christopher Pike before?”

“I haven’t,” Leonard replied, eyes still fixed on Jim. He only glanced away when Pike stood up and offered his hand, and only briefly.

Holding Leonard’s attention or not, Pike still spoke.

“We’ve been on Vulcan Space Dock less than a day, but you seem very well-known. I’ve heard your name drop a couple of times on the promenade.”

“That’s nothing compared to name drops all over the Alpha Quadrant,” Leonard replied. He glanced at Pike as he did, but couldn’t help fixing his eyes back on Jim every chance he got. Jim hadn’t changed.

“Perhaps.” Pike gestured to the seat opposite him. “Nonetheless, I’d appreciate the company of a man well acquainted with the area. If you would take no offense, captain?” Pike asked captain Spock.

“I do not,” Spock replied. “Mr. McCoy prefers to drink alone.”

Leonard sat down and Spock’s brow arched even higher than before.

“Extraordinary guests call for extraordinary circumstances.” Leonard gestured at one of his waiters for another glass. “I reckon this is one for the books.”

“Cheers then,” Pike replied with a smirk. “To a place that feels like home.”

Leonard noticed how Pike glanced at the old piano as he said it, his expression almost fond. “Do you play, Mr. Pike?” he asked.

Pike shook his head. “Never had the patience to learn,” he let out a chuckle. “To be honest, I don’t even have a good ear for music. Nevertheless, the sight gives for some good memories.”

“Savor it, I’d say. They’re rare these days,” Leonard muttered, he lifted his glass up and waited for the others at the table to follow suit. In particular Jim, whose glass had been almost empty, and who looked at him with an expression that was expertly unreadable. Always the adept bluffer. “To good memories then?” Leonard suggested.

“And a bright future,” Pike added, before putting the glass to his lips. He made an approving sound when he tasted the fine wine he ordered, more or less a compliment for Leonard at the table. But after a single sip, Pike set the glass back down and pushed it away from him.

“Mr. McCoy, I’d like to know where you stand on the Federation-Klingon war.”

Leonard raised his brows. “You’re not to mince words, I see.”

“I’ve never have,” Pike replied easily.

Leonard put his own glass down now, also shoving it in front of him. “I respect your success,” he said brusquely. “But that’s about all the opinion I have.”

If Pike was displeased by Leonard’s reply, he made one hell of a case not to show it. “Fair enough.”

It fell silent at the table for a little while, until Spock turned his attention to Jim. “Mr. Kirk, you knew Mr. McCoy’s name. Where have you met before?”

“I wasn’t sure whether it was the same person,” Jim replied. “But we met—”

“We met on Axanar,” Leonard interjected, and while the words were directed at Spock, he looked at Jim while he said them.

“We did, yeah,” Jim replied, as if he were only just remembering. “I was third regiment and you were…second medical, right?”

“You have quite the memory,” Leonard commented, his brows slightly furrowed. Then, Leonard smiled, slightly, as if he were remember some old joke and shook his head. He stood up.

“Well, for all it’s worth I hope you still enjoy your stay on Vulcan Space Dock,” he said. He left his half-empty glass mostly untouched and nodded at Pike. “All drinks are on the house tonight.”

“That’s very generous,” Pike replied politely.

Small pleasantries were exchanged, one of a precedent Spock had never seen Leonard exemplify. It seemed very straining on Leonard, the way he didn’t move his jaw as he spoke.

Spock stayed as Mr. Pike and Mr. Kirk had another drink before leaving the establishment as well.

He accompanied them towards the exit of McCoy’s, keeping a polite distance from the both of them.

With his Vulcan hearing he still overheard their low exchange of words.

“McCoy, what kind of man is he? Can he be trusted?” Pike had asked Jim quietly.

“It’s not his trustworthiness I’m worried about.”

Spock couldn’t say he was curious for any more information on the matter. After all, within a few hours Christopher Pike and Jim Kirk were both expected in his office, and then he would find out all the information he needed.

Vulcans were never impatient.


	4. Chapter 4

** <_\\__o__  _\\__4__  _\\__o__> **

That night McCoy’s Terran Café closed an hour early without explanation.

Leonard McCoy sat in the dark, with only the lights of the stars by the observatory windows shining through.

He was alone but for a bottle of Draylaxian whiskey, the only company he craved at the moment. Alcohol spilled over his fingers as he aimed wonkily for the glass.

If it was his decision to make, he would stay like this until the bottle was empty and his mind numb. Familiar feelings, no doubt, but he believed to have chased those demons away long ago.

All wasted memories were buried in alcohol in Leonard’s case, drowned in inebriation he had often vowed to forget. And because he had never quite forgotten a single misfortune that had fallen upon him, the lure of the bottle was never quite so far away.

“Leo? Hey.”

M’Benga had taken the stool from his piano and was sitting next to Leonard.

Leonard blinked. He had to have snuck in from the front door, had he only imagined to close it?

“Why are you still here?”

A low rumbling laugh rolled out of Leonard like acid reflux. “Why are you?”

M’Benga frowned, his eyes searching. For what? Leonard thought. “I was at your door an hour ago. Looked around.”

“Well, you found me.” Leonard ended his sentence with the glass of whiskey on his lips, downed the glass and moved for the bottle. M’Benga got the better of him when he stood up and took the bottle away.

With his back turned he returned it to the back of the bar.

“I wasn’t finished with that,” Leonard said. His tongue felt heavy in his mouth, but he tried his best not to slur.

“I think you’ve had enough,” M’Benga replied. With the same impassive expression on his face he sat back on the piano stool. “I take it you’re not going to bed any time soon?”

“So what if I ain’t?”

M’Benga turned back to the piano with an ease that came with habit. “Impressionist alright with you?”

Leonard grunted, but it was drowned out by the sound of the piano. He sat and listened, first with his hand under his cheek, until that too began to slip quietly, his eyelids began to droop, his head became heavy. The room was warm, stiflingly so, and M’Benga’s piano playing somehow too quick for his heart to catch up to. He wanted to rest without closing his eyes. Sleep but without the constant dreaming.

Leonard had never had dreams anyway, only nightmares and bad memories that reunified at night.

“You know, I’ve been thinking,” M’Benga talked and played the most intricate pieces simultaneously. He was too talented to be just some bar player, it had something to do with the hands. “We could just as well leave Starbase. Tonight’s as good a night as any.”

Half lying on the table and one eye cracked open Leonard looked at M’Benga. “Half the galaxy’s burning to a crisp, Jabilo. Where you reckon we go to?”

“Home.”

“Don’t have one.”

M’Benga sighed. “We all have a home, Leo. There’s always a place we’d like to return to someday.” He began to play a slower song.

“Earth? I’ll be damned if I go back.”

“Bad memories are everywhere, Leo. That’s part of life. We mourn and move on.”

“Now, you know that ain’t my strong suit.”

M’Benga stopped playing, he turned towards Leonard again, his eyes narrowed. “You know it’s only a matter of time before the Klingons come for you?”

“Let them come.” Leonard attempted to wave his hand dismissively. He laughed, mostly to himself. Yes, tonight he would welcome all who had wronged him in the past. Old demons of his own murderous self, Klingon retaliators and thwarted ex-wives. And what of old lovers? He thought to himself. Well, _them_ most of all. “Let them all come! The night’s still young, Jabilo!”

“If you’re waiting for _him_ , I don’t think he’s coming tonight.” M’Benga’s voice was almost soothing, the tone of a doctor bearing bad news.

“What makes you so sure of that?” Leonard asked.

“Because I know him. More importantly, he knows you.”

Leonard lifted his head from the table, and the room began to spin immediately after. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“It means he will not come here tonight,” M’Benga repeated, his voice lowering just as much as Leonard raised his. “And he will not come tomorrow, or the day after that, unless he has no other choice. He’s not the type that goes looking for a piece of something…or someone that isn’t there.”

M’Benga waited for Leonard to protest, but Leonard was quiet. His head was spinning and his mind at war, but he bit his tongue.

“I think you should take that job Boyce offered you. If only for a little while.”

Leonard snorted. “You mean until he’s gone?” He didn’t wait for M’Benga’s reply. “Will you just go home, Jabilo? In fact, make that an order.”

This time it was M’Benga who snorted. “We’re not in Starfleet anymore. I am a free man to do as I fancy. In fact, I fancy playing piano right now.” He did so immediately, playing the parlor music that the café was known for, just loud enough so that Leonard couldn’t get another word in.

Had Leonard been a violent man, he might have struck M’Benga. Instead he listened to him play, until he forgot to keep the scowl on his face and his mind became docile.

Perhaps M’Benga noticed, because the music turned softer again.

“Jabilo?”

“Yeah?”

“Do you think the folks back home even still remember us?”

M’Benga shrugged. “Stopped worrying about that a _long_ time ago. Saves me a lot of sorrow.”

“I wonder if Jo still remembers me,” Leonard muttered, unsure whether M’Benga even heard. When the tears came they were the angry kind, blinking only made the welling worse. He wasn’t sure whether it was because he was drunk or because he wasn’t nearly drunk enough. All he knew was that he wished the glass in front of him wasn’t empty so that he could pour liquor over the lump in his throat.

He picked the glass up, but no matter how many times he turned it in his hand it remained hopelessly empty. He slammed it back on the table in anger. “Ain’t there a whole galaxy for him to turn up in?”

Itching to move, to do _something_ , he pulled the bangs back from his forehead.

They immediately fell right back into place.

M’Benga, who hadn’t even startled at Leonard’s outburst, just kept playing.

Everything but the song Leonard actually wanted to hear.

“Play the song, M’Benga.”

Knowing better than to argue a lost cause M’Benga simply shook his head. He played Beyond Antares.

Leonard closed his eyes and wandered back to moments in time he could remember so vividly.

He was a character in a great moment in history, you see. Stationed in what they would later call ‘The Battle of Axanar’.

Not because he wanted to but because he had to. Barely three years in Starfleet they drafted him, hauled him on a rejected freight ship and flew him to Delta Orcus together with about a dozen other medics.

Axanar was a hot planet, and the Federation had dug trenches through sand and rock that burrowed through the uneven terrain. Their hideouts were cleaved into the mountains as a shelter from the sandstorms.

Many Federation members still died in those mountains, and between the constantly malfunctioning climate control units and the relentless firing of the Klingons, he had to do all he could to keep that casualty count down.

They were in a trench a couple of kilometers from L’Dexmeg. Leonard, three security men and one Federation ambassador who was shot in the hip by a defective disruptor pistol.

The Klingon responsible had succumbed to his wounds but the ambassador was following close behind, bleeding out in the boiling heat.

Leonard’s attempt to suture the wound had only done so much, the firing of phasers around them almost deafening as Leonard yelled into his communicator whilst trying to keep the ambassador upright. “I don’t care if there’s a raid in the city, we aren’t in the damn city!”

“PLEASE STAND BY, ASSISTANCE IS ON ITS WAY,” a computerized voice at the other end of the line was almost indecipherable with the heavy static in the air.

“Shit!”

One of the security men succumbed when a blade flung his way, and Leonard pulled the ambassador down for cover. “I don’t need it to be on its way, I need it here _now_! Do you hear me? _Now_!”

Another man went down, and then another. The two Klingons that noticed them had jumped into the trenches and were coming their way.

Leonard wasn’t wearing a phaser, the one in the holster of his fallen comrade just out of reach. Even if he did make it, the ambassador wouldn’t, and then it would’ve all been for nothing.

So he took the hypospray, still loaded with a strong sedative and tripled the dosage. Meanwhile, the Klingons approached slowly, like predators stalking their prey.

Leonard lowered the ambassador to the ground and gripped his hypo even tighter.

The Klingon standing directly in front of him raised his Bat’leth and moved straight for Leonard’s throat just as Leonard yelled and ducked, digging the hypospray in the unarmored part of the Klingon’s leg. The Klingon stumbled back and fell like a ton of bricks, the Bat’leth dropped at his side.

The two remaining Klingons roared and stormed at him, both of them at once. The hypospray was empty, and he had no chance but to make a grab for the fallen Klingon’s Bat’leth, even though he had no clue how to wield it.

He held it up, awkwardly hunched over by the weight of the thing. The Klingon on the left gave one good pummel with his spear and the Bat’leth was forced from his hand.

Knowing his next strike would be true, Leonard braced himself against the wall. He saw the ambassador slumped on the ground and made sure he looked the Klingon straight in the eyes before he died.

With a sharp zap a phaser, set to kill, shot both Klingons in the chest. The shots so swift they seemed to fall simultaneously.

A man jumped down the trench just as the Klingons had, he was wearing a Starfleet uniform. With his back turned to Leonard and the ambassador, he walked up to the Klingons and took the two disrupter pistols holstered to their waist.

He then turned and a young man of twenty-something years old looked at Leonard and grinned. This was James Tiberius Kirk, who stood in front of Leonard as his lord and savior.

“Heard you were getting shot at,” Jim said, eyes twinkling with amusement.

“That’s just great.” Leonard wiped the sweat off his forehead and scowled. “I call for back-up and they only send one guy.”

“Oh, I’m not the back-up,” Jim replied with a shrug. “I was in the neighborhood.”

Leonard spit the dry ashen taste from his mouth at the thought that they would’ve let him die in a trench like a dog. Those few weeks on Axanar he’d lost more people than he ever did back on Earth.

“Terrific, so the not-quite-back-up is some kind of corn-fed imbecile,” Leonard griped.

Jim didn’t take the bait, walked to the ambassador and pulled him up. “Mr. Roberts, we’ll get you out here in no time.” With his free hand he gave Leonard one of the disruptor pistols and Leonard put his arm on the other side of Ambassador Roberts.

“A squad is approaching that way,” Jim said with a nod in front of him. “If we hurry we can catch up.”

“Let me guess, _your_ squad.”

“Too much sand in the engine. It would’ve taken the too long to fix and I –,”

“Thought I could single handedly take on a group of Klingons.” Leonard finished for him. He glanced at Ambassador Roberts, whose breathing grew fainter.

Jim raised his chin. “Well, I did didn’t I?”

“Kid, I’ve been on this hellhole of a planet for just over four months now, and this is by far the dumbest thing I’ve ever heard a soldier do.”

From the sound of it, Jim was no longer smiling. “You’d rather I left you there, _old man_?”

Leonard scoffed. There were sounds of engines in the distance, and they picked up their pace.

Ten minutes later they successfully moved the ambassador into a shuttle leading to a supply ship above them, Leonard accompanying him for the short ride up. Jim watching as the remainder of his crew was getting ready to make way again.

“See you later, old man.” Jim had yelled at him just before the shuttle door closed.

“I’m twenty-nine,” Leonard had yelled back in reply. He wasn’t sure whether Jim had laughed about that, or Leonard had simply imagined that part.

He hadn’t thought much more about Jim until, weeks later, he met him again in the infirmary of their L’Dexmeg headquarters. 

He sat in the third bed from the right, a deep gash above his thick brow and an out of place grin on his face when he recognized Leonard from afar.

Leonard had only raised a brow and pulled up Jim’s personnel file.

“I see those Klingons finally got you good,” he said, his eyes still reading Jim’s service record. He hadn’t graduated all that long ago either.

Jim chuckled. “Yeah, right. If a Klingon did this I wouldn’t be sitting here,” he replied, swinging his legs up on the bed. “This is the battle scar of sitting in a shuttle with a faulty driver coil.”

“Not the best war story I’ve ever heard,” Leonard replied, inclining his head. “Sit back and let me have a look at you.”

Jim lay down on the bed and closed his eyes so that Leonard could work. “You’re Bones, right?” he muttered, trying not to move too much.

“The nurses call me that,” Leonard replied, wiping a wet cloth over Jim’s brow to check his work. “’S not my name though.”

“I like it. It sounds gritty. Makes Klingons cower in fear, I bet.”

Leonard snorted. “Sure, why not.” He took a step back, making room for Jim to move again. “There we go.”

Jim sat up and yawned as he stretched. Instead of standing up from the bio-bed, he sat by the side as he’d done before. He looked at Leonard expectantly.

“What?” Leonard asked.

“Don’t you want to know my name, Bones?” he asked.

Leonard took up the PADD and without taking a glance at Jim read aloud. “James Tiberius Kirk, third regiment.” He flipped the display of the PADD towards Jim so he could take a look himself. “I can tell you your whole medical history if you want.”

“Whoa, am I really 6 feet tall?” With narrowed, discerning eyes, Jim looked at his file as if he had never seen it before, then made an faux-impressed sound. “Well, my friends call me, Jim.” He held his hand out to Leonard, who stared at it. “You’re supposed to shake it,” Jim whispered to him.

Leonard rolled his eyes but shook Jim’s hand.

There was something comforting about Jim’s presence in L’Dexmeg, and Leonard wasn’t the only one to think so.

It seemed that Jim had found the perfect balance between eluding the war whilst at the same time functioning as one of Axanar’s MVP’s. It was a sight to behold.

 _Jim_ was a sight to behold.


	5. Chapter 5

** <_\\__o__  _\\__5__  _\\__o__> **

Time slowly went by in McCoy’s Café, and by the time Alpha shift almost began Leonard finally grew tired of waiting.

M’Benga had gone, too tired to stick around and too sure that Leonard was too miserable to do anything stupid.

Leonard had nodded asleep somewhere along the line, and woke up slightly sobered up but not any less miserable.

In the end he had been wrong: Jim hadn’t shown up after all.

In retrospect it was nothing new; the Jim he thought he knew would’ve come, no doubt. But this Jim wasn’t the Jim _he_ knew at all, was it?

This Jim called him by his first name, this Jim came through the front door instead of barging through and saving the day.

This Jim was a stranger, nothing like the Jim Leonard knew.

So it was only natural that he didn’t show up when he should’ve.

When Leonard stood up he nearly stumbled back down, and had to grab the side of the table to keep his balance. His legs were asleep, the alcohol, however dulled, was still in his system.

He took a bottle of water from behind the bar and splashed his face with it, wiping it dry with his shirt. He drank the rest and then walked out of the café into the promenade.

The walkway of Space Dock was normally occupied, not too crowded in the middle of the (simulated) night. He walked down the promenade, keeping himself from making eye contact from the occasional stare.

He supposed he looked a mess, he felt a mess, but he didn’t care.

He kept walking with heavy steps, his eyes narrowing once or twice by the blinding neon lights of the occasional bar or restaurant.

Initially Leonard was heading home, next to M’Benga’s in the residency tier when he realized he was walking in the complete opposite direction. He was close to the Pink Tribble and taking the lift there meant he had to backtrack twice the way he came.

The Pink Tribble’s pink neon letters blinked, the two B’s in the middle lacking luminance. Leonard detested at the sight, Boyce had insisted it added character to the place.

Resigned with taking the freight lift down he moved to the back of the Tribble. He took the narrow walkway that led to the center of the promenade, the entire strait completely dark because of the lack of observation windows. He stumbled a couple of times, his hands catching on the rough walls to keep himself from falling.

There was a scuffling sound in the distance, and Leonard stopped walking.

The sound had gone as quickly as it had come however, until he was in the middle of the tier, a large circle with a view of the back of every establishment.

But, wasn’t it all wrong? Why were the lights off? And what had happened to the open view of the deck below and above?

Instead Leonard was watching a barely lit area and not a soul standing there, which was uncommon even for Beta shift.

He walked to the control panel operating the lift on the wall, it didn’t seem broken.

He took the pass that Spock had so graciously entrusted most of the ‘vendors’ at Star base with.

“Computer. Send turbolift,” he croaked. His throat felt dry like sandpaper.

_‘Command unrecognized.’_

Leonard groaned. “Send turbolift,” he articulated more clearly.

This time it seemed like the computer was about to process the command, until it didn’t. _‘Command unauthorized.’_

He slapped the control panel with an open palm and leaned with his back against the panel. His bed felt so far away now.

He closed his eyes and slid down the wall, deciding to rest at the spot for a second. He felt like he was spinning, floating in space, without the deck of Space Dock below him but freely floating in one of those 21st century spacesuits. Just a couple of inches of nylon between him and imminent death. Sent on a one way trip to the sun, the heat already burning his skin and through his suit. He screamed.

He startled awake with a wild jerk. The lights were on but at two percent, five at most.

It was a good thing that Leonard had had his eyes closed for as long as he did because he could now discern the people walking out of the backdoor of the Pink Tribble.

Dark figures quietly left the bar, two at a time, not saying a word to each other as they each went their own direction.

Leonard slowly slid up and stared with narrowed eyes.

Two Vulcans walked out and into the same direction, directly towards him.

Leonard held his breath as they walked past him, scared that the Vulcan’s superior senses would give his position away.

They kept walking through the narrow pathway that led to the outer ring.

So occupied was he with the two Vulcans that Leonard hadn’t noticed a Caitian female leaving the café.

“You there,” she said, voice purring in inflection.

Leonard had barely scrambled to his feet when the Caitian jumped him. He struggled against her grip and tried to shake her off, but even with her lack of body weight he wasn’t able to.

He knocked back to the wall with the Caitian still on his back, desperate now that she was tightening her grip on his neck. He knocked back against the wall, once, twice, then felt a strong hand on his shoulder. He just managed to see one of the Vulcans had returned then everything went black.

Leonard startled awake in the same manner he had done so a little while before. The lights in the room were bright this time, and he recognized Boyce’s office even thought there were at least a dozen people surrounding him as he sat, tied to a chair, in the middle of the room.

“What’s the meaning of this?” he demanded, feeling completely sobered up. He wasn’t sure whether it was because of the time passed or the fact that he had both been strangled and decapitated by a Vulcan nerve pinch in a span of about five minutes.

“Leonard,” a voice said and the crowd split into equal sides to reveal Philip Boyce standing there. He was smirking and holding a glass of what Leonard could only assume was a martini. “Good of you to join us.”

Leonard scoffed. “and what is it that I have the pleasure to be in the company of?” he said. “Your band of thieves?” An intimidating looking Andorian grumbled something low and Leonard looked at him defiantly. “Don’t tell me this is a party and you tie up your guest of honor.”

Boyce glanced at someone behind Leonard. “Untie him.”

Leonard also shot the man behind him a look after his wrists were freed. He didn’t stand up from his chair though, not when Boyce pulled up another chair himself and sat opposite Leonard. Leonard crossed his arms and legs and waited.

Boyce was patiently pouring another glass of something and offered it to Leonard.

“No thanks,” Leonard said, keeping his arms crossed.

“It’s for the hangover,” Boyce replied. “You’ll need it with that wall-eyed look of yours.”

Leonard took the glass, drank the bitter liquid in one go and put it on the floor. It didn’t seem to change much, other than that he now had a disgusting taste in his mouth.

“Better?” Boyce asked.

“Not really.”

“It will be.”

Boyce leaned back in his chair. “Now,” he said. “I trust you still want to know why we’re here? Who we are?”

“I do not think we can trust this, this _drunk_.” The Andorian who watched him before now spoke up, his voice nearly as intimidating as his looks.

Leonard glared at him. “Then you ought to have left him in the alleyway you half-witted blue piece of --”

The Andorian made a step at Leonard but was held back by a human man standing next to him. 

Boyce muttered something under his breath, barely audible but just exasperated enough to gain Leonard’s attention. “I will explain as much as I am able,” he said. “If you play nice while I do.”

Leonard scowled but kept his mouth shut.

“Good man,” Boyce said. “Leonard, you happened to have stumbled upon one of the meetings of the Resistance. We have come together now, in such high numbers because someone very important has just rejoined us.”

“Christopher Pike,” Leonard said.

Boyce nodded. “Among others. We have connections with every planet of the Federation. That is, the ones that are still capable of remaining in contact. In the course of the last year we have lost many colonies near the border. With Pike’s return, we believe there is a chance to still turn the tables.”

“What tables?” Leonard asked. “Isn’t Starfleet already fighting the Klingons? What’s a resistance going to do that the Federation isn’t already doing?”

“Resist.” Boyce mouth was a thin line and he was scowling. The men and women in the room felt quiet before, but in an instant it felt like they were all holding their breath.

“What?” An increasing sense of disquiet washed over Leonard.

“Starfleet is not going to fight the Klingons any longer,” Boyce said.

“What do you mean not going to fight the Klingons? The fleet’s been fighting for years. I was there on Axanar fighting with their pin tied on my damn uniform.”

“They believe the Klingon’s forces too powerful to defeat,” Boyce continued, his voice grew more monotonous with each word. “They’ll compromise part of the galaxy for the sake of peace.”

“Compromise? Compromise what?” Leonard repeated, he hesitated. “Compromise Earth?”

“Of course that is all you humans care about.” An Orion woman to his left had spoken up. “They’ll freely offer the Beta-quadrant, all the way up to Orion for the sake of peace,” she said. “All the planets, all the starbases, all the colonies. They’re going to abandon them. But no, not your precious Earth.”

The information was too vast for Leonard to be insulted by the words. Half the Beta-Quadrant all the way up to Orion. But there were Starfleet soldiers still fighting on those colonies. Had he been one of them, fighting for his home.

“If the fleet isn’t going to defeat those bastards, what are a couple of men and women in the back room of a bar going to do?” he asked finally. “Bang pots and pans in the street?”

“As I said, we will resist,” Boyce replied.

“How?”

“Axanar.”

“What about Axanar?”

“We’ll finish what Garth of Izar began.”

Leonard found all he heard hard to believe. “Captain Garth died. His plan failed.”

“It won’t this time.” Boyce raised his voice, Leonard had never hear Boyce do so before in the years that he’d known him. He walked up to Leonard and placed his hands on his shoulders. “There was information coming this way under great sacrifice.”

“The card,” Leonard muttered.

“It holds the advantage we need to end this war, Leo.”

“And who would that be? Christopher Pike?” Leonard asked. He laughed shaking his head in disbelief. “The Klingon Empire is almost turned upside down for that thing and you plan to give it to the most conspicuous man in the galaxy.”

Boyce didn’t look amused or insulted by Leonard’s laughter. Instead he nodded. “You’re right, Pike cannot carry the information. Pike knows this, which is why he hasn’t come alone.”

Of course, how could he have been so stupid.

“Jim Kirk.” The name rolled off Leonard’s tongue like it’d been lodged on the tip all along.

“Kirk is the one who’s supposed to deliver the card, if he’s given the chance to. If _you_ give him the chance to.”

“ _Me_?” Leonard said, feeling miserable.

“Mudd has given you the data has he not?” Boyce asked.

Leonard stood up from his chair and took a step forward instead of back. “What makes you think that?” he asked.

“Because I’ve been watching you, Leo,” Boyce continued. “And I know you, and I know Mudd. He would’ve only given it to you, thinking that you were the only one callous enough not to use it for personal gain.”

“There’s nothing to gain from this.” Leonard walked to the door that led towards the café of the Pink Tribble, the people barring his way moving with a simple gesture from Boyce. He stopped just before the sensors, his mind racing at the thought of what Mudd had given him just a couple of hours ago. How Jim Kirk had barged into his life without a moment’s notice and dragged him into the shit he had so purposely escaped. He wondered just was Boyce had intended to do with M’Benga if he had actually accepted one of the several offers he’d gotten to work for him. Was it so he could play that tinny piano in this dive-bar or a chance for Boyce to plant a spy between the only person Leonard saw as his friend. M’Benga would’ve heard everything, and would’ve been brave or stupid enough to try to convince Leonard to risk it all for the sake of a mundane little galaxy he’d hated all his life. He should’ve never left Earth in the first place.

“Does he have the card or doesn’t he?” a man asked Boyce, who sat back in his chair, drinking his Martini quietly while contemplating.

“If I do than it’s not your business to ask me for it, are you?” Leonard replied in Boyce’s place.

It seemed to catch Boyce’s interest, he looked up at Leonard. “He knows you have the card, Leonard.”

“Good. Now you tell him where to find me.”

Leonard left through the front door of the Pink Tribble back towards his old café and the turbolift that led to his long awaited bed.


	6. Chapter 6

** <_\\__o__  _\\__6__  _\\__o__> **

The following day Leonard was back at his café before the start of the new shift and, still alone, he had walked to the piano and opened the sound box. The card was still there.

He took it out and looked at it. Tried to imagine its worth but couldn’t.

He shoved the card in his pocket, knowing that even if they used a scan on his café chances were slim that they would try to scan it on his person. Besides, he wanted to have it on him. Boyce was not a stupid man; he knew exactly who Leonard wanted to come asking for that card and he wanted to be prepared when he walked through that door.

The people came and went, M’Benga entered and watched Leonard with worry.

“What time did you go to bed?” he asked as he sat opposite Leonard at the tiny table.

“Don’t remember,” Leonard lied. “What’s it to you? I thought you found me miserable company.”

M’Benga, not inching to start a fight rolled his eyes and stood up. He moved the piano away from Leonard and started playing. Something loud and cheerful just so that if Leonard did indeed have a hangover, he’d feel even more miserable.

Leonard felt fine. Declined all offers of drinks in order to stay sharp as he waited. Each hour that went by only strengthening his anticipation. Now, of all moments, he longed to wander through the halls of Space Dock. He could do with a little ignorance on the way, he already knew too much to begin with.

It was a damn shame that he cared so much about other planets than home. He couldn’t lie and say that the destruction of Orion kept him up at night, but it turned his stomach all the same. Even for an enslaving planet such as Orion, freedom was a right.

And then there was Earth…

Earth did keep him up at night. More specifically because of what was left there. There were little memories, like peach cobbler and mint juleps and the unbearable summers in Atlanta. And the big memories that always featured a girl with his eyes and, if his ex-mother-in-law was to be believed, his mouth, indignant and all.

The people came and went, as one shift began and another ended. Jim didn’t show. Why, it was almost laughable how Leonard believed he would. As if Boyce asking would make a difference to Jim? As if at some point in his miserable life, the universe began to barter _in_ Leonard’s favor while it’d never done so before.

He regretted staying sober for as long as he did. The occasion had called for a drink hours ago. It was too late (or was it too early, he could never decide?) now. He stood up and left. If M’Benga was still watching him, he made sure not to notice.

Once more, he set back to his apartment, which he’d only left on a fool’s errant and a fool’s hope.

It was simulated daytime on Space Dock, and the environmental lights were at its brightest. The halls were crowded once more and it felt very long ago when he’d wandered there before, though it’d been less than a day.

Once or twice he caught the eye of someone staring, a Tellarite, Vulcan or Terran who looked somehow familiar. Both the Vulcans authorities as well as members of the resistance were keeping a close eye on him. If they were waiting for Leonard to slip up and use the card for his own gain they were all sorely mistaken. Leonard had the card in his hands but he felt no inclination to use it. If his end of the bargain wasn’t met he was going to treat the card like fodder, hell, nothing kept him from throwing it in the trash chute one of these days. It would certainly make him sleep better at night knowing the thing was gone.

Leonard’s apartment was in the lowest residential tier of Space Dock, where the shade of Vulcan overhead couldn’t cast in no matter their orbit. The hall was dark and quiet. He pushed the code of his apartment in the terminal and entered.

The light in his apartment was already on. Sitting on a chair by his dining room table was a figure who, once again, Leonard recognized immediately.

Jim was Jim by the way he carried his shoulders, the slight of his hands. The way his head always moved slightly up instead of down when he turned. They’d always seemed so important to remember once, even more clearly than the bright blue eyes and the ready smile that preceded the lies.

“I was sure you wouldn’t show,” he said in all honesty. He increased the lights to fifty percent, brightening the windowless room. He walked to his replicator and, after changing his mind twice, made himself a glass of water. “You couldn’t meet me at the café? You know I tried to make it as much like Earth as I could afford, thought you might enjoy it too. Your friend Pike most certainly did.” For some reason Leonard felt like he had to keep talking, even if he wasn’t saying much at all. He took his glass from the replicator, pulled the only other chair he owned back and sat down. “If I’m wrong feel free to say so of course.”

Jim watched him quietly, nothing but his eyes moving, the affected smile he’d hung up at the café now long gone. Damn it all, if Jim was so determined to play games, he was more than willing to play along.

“Sure you don’t want anything?” he asked Jim, pressing the glass against his own lips.

Still, Jim didn’t move, but he opened his mouth and a tone of voice came out that Leonard hadn’t heard for a very long time. “Do you have the card?”

Leonard waited a beat, focused on the glass of his drink, cold beads of water sliding down his fingers. “Perhaps,” he said, and watched with a swell of pride how Jim’s eyes narrowed, how his chest slightly heaved up and down.

“Bones--,” Jim started impatiently, and then held his tongue, catching himself too late.

Leonard scoffed. “ _Bones_ , he says.” The words tasted bitter on his own tongue, but far worse was it to hear it from Jim’s. There were more memories tied to that name than on his very own. Bad memories each of them. Bones only meant Jim, and Jim only meant bad news. “I thought it was McCoy nowadays, Jim.”

Red rose to Jim’s cheeks, and it was their complete disconnection that kept Leonard from identifying whether this was anger, embarrassment or regret. Perhaps if he was lucky, he would be able to hurt Jim yet. At least one of them was going to get away scathed, and he wouldn’t place bets on himself for a change.

Jim stood up, the feet of the chair almost screeching on the ground, his eyes never leaving Leonard regardless of the heat in his face. “Did you bring me here to talk?” he asked. “Or is there something else you want?”

“And here I thought we were here because of something _you_ want.”

Jim didn’t reply. He walked to the replicator on the wall. He made himself a drink and Leonard watched with interest to see whether it was liquid courage or not.

When Jim sat back down the red in his cheeks had gone. He pushed the glass towards Leonard.

Leonard looked at the glass in front of him. “You know I hate the taste of replicated whiskey.”

“Drink it anyway.”

Leonard did not.

“Do you have the card or not Bones?” Jim asked again.

Leonard frowned. “If I did why would I be so inclined to give it to you?” he asked, making an effort to keep his voice as level and low as Jim’s.

“Because, Bones.” Jim’s kept the concert of his voice on the last word. _Bones, Bones, Bones._ If Leonard remembered one thing about Jim is that he knew how to pick his battles. But unlike Jim’s usual style, this was an easy fight, Leonard has always been more emotionally involved from the start. “ _You_ wanted me here. You beckoned and I came. And here’s the thing, the game you want to play right now? I don’t have the time. There are bigger things going on than the both of us.”

“Don’t you dare talk to me like I don’t understand what’s going on, Jim,” Leonard snarled, annoyed by his own lack of control. “I was on Axanar and when I left I’ve done all I damn well could not to get involved.”

“But you are, aren’t you? So stop feeling so sorry for yourself,” Jim said sharply.

Leonard was listening but they didn’t quite get in, he was so angry, he had half a mind to grab the glass in front of him and smash it on the nearest wall. “You’re going to tell me who Christopher Pike is?” he demanded. “And don’t give me that resistance bullshit. You know what I want to hear.”

Finally, Jim became angry. “What does it matter?” he spat back. “What would that change? You already hate me, you—”

“I sure as hell do, Jim,” Leonard interjected firmly. “But here’s the thing. You come here, out of all the places in the galaxy—” He caught himself when he raised his voice too loud, when he felt himself spinning out of control. Forcing himself to take a deep breath before finishing his sentence. “You at least owe me the truth.”

There was another look of Jim’s that Leonard couldn’t exactly pin down. And for a moment Leonard, to his own disbelieve, thought that _this_ Jim didn’t think he owed Leonard anything at all. But then Jim sighed, resigned.

“Christopher Pike is my husband. Has been before we met.”

Leonard’s stomach turned over. He felt sick, as if he were having a hangover after all, and fought the urge to bury his face in his hands at all cost. “Oh,” he managed to reply, afraid of opening his mouth to say anything else.

Jim let out a dry laugh, barely noticeable. “Yeah,” he said. “ _Oh_.” He sighed again and closed his eyes, continued talking even though Leonard wished he didn’t. “They shipped him off to Rura Penthe, just before I left for Axanar. I just thought –”

“You thought I’d make a nice little place filler.” Leonard didn’t know why he said it, didn’t believe, or want to believe, his own words. But they spilled out and already out there Leonard was far too stubborn to take them back. The replicated whiskey began to tempt him.

Jim stood up. “You know, there just no point trying to talk to you. I thought you wanted to talk but if all you want is to find new reasons to pity yourself I think there’s nothing more for me to say.” He pulled his hood back up and walked towards the door, the door was already open when he took one last look at Leonard. “You keep that card, McCoy. We’ll find another way to end this war.”

With that Leonard was alone again.  


	7. Chapter 7

** <_\\__o__  _\\__7___  _\\__o__> **

Jim Kirk once read that you only ever really fell in love four times in life. What kind of love that was…hard to say. Some days he’d been sure he’d fallen in love dozens of times over, with the same people, again and again. Other days, he doubted whether he ever loved anyone at all.

Vulcan Space Dock was everything he expected it to be. A fixed object in an ever changing universe. He had never disliked Vulcans but right now he wished to be anywhere else.

He made his way through the dock as if he’d been there for months already, taking the least crowded paths as he made his way to The Pink Tribble. Keeping his gaze level but careful not to make any actual eye contact. His mind racing through so many things at once, but he’d always been that way.

He thought about Chris, Captain Spock, major Koloth. _Bones_.

He had regretted storming out of Bones’ apartment the moment the door closed on him, but something prevented him from going back in there without a good reason for doing so.

Now he had to go and tell Boyce that he had just severed the only link they had to get the card, and with that, their only trump.

Well, Jim didn’t really believe that to be true. There was always another way, always another angle, he just hadn’t seen it yet.

Hell, he’d been through hotter fires hadn’t he?

He had to keep believing that. Because he was still being punished for that one moment when he didn’t.

He never in his wildest dreams believed Chris would survive Rura Penthe, let alone escape it. Had given up the second he’d read the news feed.

It shamed him to think that he’d given up on Chris so easily. That the war had managed to shake even _his_ foundations to the core.

Jim snapped out of his thoughts for a second when he almost bumped into a security officer, apologized and quickly made his way through the thick of the crowd with the vendors yelling around him, bartering their goods.

He entered The Pink Tribble, sat down at the bar and ordered himself a drink. Waited patiently until he heard Boyce enter via the back and listened to him speak to his other customers. Boyce sent a complimentary drink here and there and instilled a calmness in the room that explained why throughout the years Chris had trusted the old doctor’s council above that of anyone else.

Boyce sat down next to Jim with an old nimbleness, and the bartender pushed a martini glass his way without being asked.

“Your talk wasn’t successful then?” Boyce asked. He held his index finger up to the bartender until he dropped another olive in his glass.

“I’m sorry,” Jim said.

Boyce didn’t acknowledge the apology. “Well, McCoy has never been an easy man. Although I never took him as completely unreasonable, at least not with the people he cares about. He cares very much for you, I’m sure,” Boyce considered out loud as he talked, holding an olive up and between his fingers and moving it here and there before dropping it into his mouth. He chewed while he spoke. “He’ll come around ultimately.”

“I don’t doubt he cares about me,” Jim replied heavily. He moved his glass to his lips but only to give the impression of drinking. He didn’t have the stomach for liquor right now. “He’s trying to get even with me.”

“Perhaps he is, perhaps he isn’t,” Boyce replied. Though he sounded unconcerned and was asking the bartender for two more olives.

“I know you told Chris about the terms,” Jim pressed on. “Please…don’t tell him anything else.” He stood up from his chair, tipped the bartender a number of credits too many and had turned away from Boyce when Boyce’s hand on his shoulder held him back.

“Jim.” Jim turned and saw that Boyce’s usually peaceful mien had disappeared. “He would understand. Even the truth.”

It took a second too long but Jim forced a smile. He took another step back, just out of Boyce’s reach. “I know,” he lied. “I’ll talk to him, before he asks.”

Boyce’s eyes were piercing, but Jim’s expression didn’t falter. He winked and made his way to the back, the same way Boyce had entered. The door connecting it to the bar closed behind Jim and he walked into Boyce’s empty office and sat down, savoring the feeling of solitude.

To tell Chris before he asked, was it really that simple? There was a time that Jim would’ve told Chris anything. _Everything_.

He didn’t ever remember what that felt like.

Chris saved him too many times to take count. First in a San Francisco bar where he, beaten and bloodied, clenched his fists to issue a fight that couldn’t be won. Chris stood between him and his assailant in an attempt to diffuse the situation, and, when that didn’t work, he stood by his back and took down an Andorian twice his size.

That was Chris, a paradox. One moment he would be acting with wisdom that came with age, and another he could be as rash and stubborn as youth would permit.

Laughing through the pain, Jim had stuffed tissue paper up Chris’ nose in the back alley of a bar neither one of them ever visited again. Chris’ once so impeccable Starfleet uniform completely ruined Jim had offered his own jacket until Chris looked at him disbelievingly and asked, with his jaw still a bit slack and his nose still stuffed with paper: “A’ you hidding o’ me?”

They talked all night and much of that morning, and Jim could’ve talked to him for hours and hours on end if he could only hold the man’s attention for that long.

And because he believed he knew a great many deal of things back then, and the thought of losing…at _anything_ had never occurred to him, he enlisted into Starfleet to make sure that he did get that attention.

In time Chris grew to care just as much as Jim had. Another victory, why wouldn’t it be?

What followed was the Deneva Massacre, the militarization of Starfleet and the drafting of old Starfleet personnel.

They assigned Chris captain to the Enterprise. Initially the first ship to carry civilians on the fleet now fitted as a dreadnought. Jim was to serve with him on the ship’s bridge until the untimely defeat of Garth of Izar.

And because the fleet was so desperate not to let Axanar fall, they sent Jim there instead, like most men of his rank.

The Enterprise became the fleet’s flagship, and Christopher Pike the most wanted man in the Klingon Empire. And of course Chris would step up, did Jim know him in any other way?

Chris pushed the Klingons back; past Akaali, Delta Leonis, Alpha Fornacis, Gamma Leporis… For a while the Enterprise seemed invincible, Chris undefeatable.

One breach in the hull and the Enterprise proved itself to be just like every other ship. Chris, in an attempt to save his crew surrendered. The rest was a mix of rumors and lies and some truths too far gone to be uncovered.

And there was nothing to do about all that on Axanar. When it came to measuring strength and skill, land-based war was a primitive activity. They were the 19th century soldiers sent to march in front of the cannons, predestined to die no matter the outcome. Meanwhile photons blasted overhead and everyone’s eyes were on the sky.

Jim fought on Axanar, almost to die, until he met a doctor by the name of Leonard McCoy. Someone who wore his heart on his sleeve and was about as unsuited for the Fleet as Chris had been born for it.

Jim was pulled to his presence for that very reason, and Bones was so lonely that the attention was an easy one to get. He knew that Bones would get so easily attached but latched on anyway, grew to crave it even. Hell, he was lonely too.

Bones grew to care too much, and even then he did not stop.

It’d just been so easy to lie to Bones. Scarily so…

On Axanar the best and worst times were spent in the mess.

Meanwhile rumors and speculations on Chris’ fate came in every day. Ranging from the plausible to unreasonable to downright absurd. It was the crews’ favorite discussion. Sometimes, listening was bearable, sometimes it wasn’t.

“If the Klingons got him, he’s either dead or shipped off to Rura Penthe, in which case he’s better off dead,” Marlowe said. He was a short stout shuttle mechanic with a large mustache and an almost impressive pessimistic outlook on life.

“The Klingons are far too stupid to capture someone like Captain Pike.” M’Benga had a passionate love-hate relationship with Marlowe. “He’s probably laying low somewhere, waiting to strike. It’s strategy.”

“Really? And what, pray tell, should we call that strategy? _Disappear_ and conquer?” Marlowe sucked the air between his teeth in disdain. “It wouldn’t hurt if he showed his face every now and then, considering we’re all _dying_ here.”

“You show that ugly mug of yours to the Klingons, I guarantee they’ll run home screaming. That strategic enough for you?”

Marlowe threw a shoe M’Benga’s way, who caught it (laughing all the while) and flung it back.

Jim wouldn’t say anything then, not even to lie with an aloof word or two as if he too was guessing on his husband’s fate. _Late_ husband.

“And what’s the doctor’s verdict, huh?” Marlowe asked.

Bones shrugged, the way he always did, he really didn’t care for politics that man. “Hell if I know.”

The mess was an empty and barren place until they’d sent a piano down to the main base in L’Dexmeg, ‘for the sake of morale’.

It was received with less gratitude than if they’d sent nothing at all.

Jabilo M’Benga was the only man in the division who could play it anyway, but he could play it very well.

Bones grew fond of a song M’Benga picked up on Alpha Centauri, Beyond Antares it was called, and he’d sit in the mess after everyone else had gone and got to barter M’Benga with some better night shift or something to make him play it.

Jim got to lingering too, most of the time after M’Benga had gone they’d still be lingering.

But at the end of the day Jim was still at the forefront, taking all the risks, fighting all the battles.

Bones would grow angrier with each visit to sickbay, and Jim wouldn’t say a word about it.

“Is it that you actually have a death wish, kid?” Every medical procedure Bones did hurt, the hyposprays, the sutures, even the dermal regenerator. “Do you actually want to die?”

Jim pulled his arm away. “Don’t be stupid.”

“I could tell you the same.”

Sometimes visits to sickbay felt like cross-examinations.

“You don’t know a single thing about me.”

“You’re right. But I would, if you told me,” Bones spat back. “Where’d you serve before Axanar, Jim? Where’d you live? What did you do? At least tell me something.”

Sometimes he wanted to tell Bones everything too, but found that he couldn’t.

Like all those other times Jim walked out of sickbay, running, far away. Bones wouldn’t let him. Ran, actually _ran_ after him, pulled him into an empty Tech lab.

“Why won’t you tell me, Jim?” he asked. “What happened?”

“I…” Jim swallowed it all back. At first another lie, and then the truth as well. If only he’d said it all.

He kissed Bones instead, and no it didn’t seem better but it sure as hell felt that way. Of course, Bones had kissed him back, and there was no going back after that.

Bones could be pushed and pulled, he wasn’t a very predictable man but he tried to be. In a place like Axanar that meant a lot.

Whenever the fighting died down Jim would convince Bones to wander into the desert with him. He would always follow.

Away from the camp and into the night the stars were bright as ever, stretched out in front of them in hues of blue, white and purple. Around them nothing but sand, every hill stretching out as far as the eyes could see.

Among those gentle hills there was no better feeling than that of solitude.

Halfway into their ascend, Bones stopped and looked up at Jim. “This far enough for you wayfarer?” he asked.

Jim let himself fall on his back his eyes on the sky. There were a number of surveillance ships in orbit around Axanar. Quick and nimble vessels that sped by like satellites. “What I wouldn’t do to be on a starship right now.”

“Is that why we’re here? To go star, I mean, ship-gazing?” Bones asked. He sat down next to Jim. “We could’ve done that at camp.”

“It’s not the same in camp,” Jim replied. “Too many people there.”

Bones looked up as well, his eyes on the sky just as Jim’s were. Bones’ eyes didn’t know what to look for though. His eyes were always fixed on Earth, _home_. Jim’s longings weren’t as tangible as all that.

“All right. Now you’ve dragged me all this way, I think you should start talking to me.”

“About what?”

“What you did before.”

Jim’s heart sunk. “There’s nothing to tell, I already told you,” he replied dissatisfied. He looked at Bones, half-expecting an angry scowl in return, but Bones was just watching him with a lopsided smirk, amused.

“I’ll start, because I know you’re shy and all.” Bones continued. “I grew up in a maisonette in the _great_ city of Atlanta, that’s in Georgia by the way. The son of one hell of a GP, Mr. McCoy, and of one _very_ sweet piano teacher, Mrs. McCoy. Now it’s your turn.”

Jim rolled his eyes. “I grew up in Riverside, Iowa…which is in Iowa. I have a brother and we were raised by my granddad whose family has been a proud member of the Iowa Corn Growers Association for over seven generations.”

Bones laughed in surprise. “I did not know that. Does that make you a corn-fed country bumpkin?”

“And don’t you forget it.” Jim smiled. “So…Georgia. Did y’all grow peaches?”

Bones arched a brow. “In the maisonette, Jim? I don’t think so.”

“And here I thought we had something in common.”

“Well, I’ve always liked the idea of the countryside,” Bones replied. “Seemed quaint.”

“Spoken like a true man who’s never seen the countryside. It’s ridiculously boring.”

“I doubt there was ever a dull moment with you around.”

“Me?” Jim repeated, his hand on his chest and brows raised. “I was the dullest creature there.”

“I don’t believe you.”

“Thirteen years of nothing but reading and farm work, Bones.”

“And after that?”

Jim’s smile turned impish. “ _Puberty_.”

Bones chortled out a laugh and then resettled himself under their ever changing footing, the ground still slipping from under them like water.

Jim didn’t know at which moment a desperate need not to be alone had gone and warped itself. Every day on that planet were the same but different, like the sea of sand around them. In the fluidity of it all he hadn’t realized that want had become need and won’t became can’t. Because he did love Bones, and he would’ve stopped it if he could’ve, but there was just no letting go.

He resettled so close to Bones he could feel him breathe, but nothing seemed close enough.

“We could be on a starship together, you know,” Jim said. “Think of the adventures we could have.”

Bones smirked. “I’d like that, Jim.”

“I’m glad I met you, Bones,” he said, his lips ghosting over Bones’ until he briefly brushed them together.

Bones kissed him in return, lips rough by specks of sand and salt that always found way on their skin.

“Me too, Jim. Me too.”


	8. Chapter 8

** <_\\__o__  _\\__8__  _\\__o__> **

Below Boyce’s office there was another room, for a long while only used for storage of Boyce’s more dubious wares.

Now it served a higher purpose as one of the small number of hideouts for the resistance.

Jim marveled at the fact that there were still areas unknown to authorities on Vulcan turf who, by default, seemed to know everything.

Christopher Pike spent most of his time there. With Boyce and Chris’ history together he could easily walk into Boyce’s office and pretend he was simply keeping an old friend company. When it came to deceiving Vulcans a simple lie was often best.  

Quietly Jim descended into the room, silently approaching Chris, who was so preoccupied he hardly noticed him enter. Chris was reading, Jim wasn’t sure what exactly, but bad news judging from the lines that gathered between Chris’ brow.

He looked tired, but there wasn’t a time when he hadn’t looked like that as of late.

Jim held no illusions for himself; when they’d gotten married Chris had been a little too old and Jim a little too young. Now that time had passed Jim had become a man while Chris hadn’t waited. Chris had grown wiser, never jaded, and in Jim’s eyes could never be considered old. But when all was said and done it didn’t matter what Jim thought or how old Chris actually was, there was not a day in Jim’s life where he could shake the thought that Chris’ death would be a premature one.

Jim approached the desk until his shadow hovered over it and Chris looked up and offered him a smile. Jim returned it and sat down on the chair next to Chris’.

“Did McCoy have the card?” he asked, slowly sliding the PADD in front of him away.

“He didn’t say,” Jim replied. “But I know he does.”

“You know,” Chris repeated. “By instinct or intel?”

“Both,” Jim replied.

“Did he offer a price?” Chris asked. From the look of it, he hadn’t held his hopes up when it came to Bones, nor did he have any expectations when he saw Jim’s approach in the dark. He could always tell when it was bad news.

“McCoy’s a dead end,” the resentment he felt welling up with the words overwhelmed him, and the sneer that came with it was too quick and wrought too deep to be contained. Betrayed by his own stutter in control Jim looked away, moved to stand up and create a distance between him. He regretted coming to the Tribble right after Bones’s apartment. As expected a steady hand settled him back down.

“Jim,” Chris said, keeping his hand still on Jim’s arm. He waited until Jim reluctantly looked at him. “While I was on the Enterprise and Rura Penthe…while you were on Axanar…” It didn’t happen often when Chris was at a loss of words, and he was rueful. “I wasn’t able to give us a fair shot, I’m sorry for that.”

Jim didn’t reply, still fought with his initial instinct to walk away. At least Chris’ introspectiveness was nothing new, Jim had the same fault.

How different would it have been if he’d been assigned to the Enterprise? Would it have been for better or for worse?

Chris’ voice intertwined with his thoughts just as much as Bones’ did. And even though Chris’ words were meant to soothe the pain was the same.

“You owe me far less than you think you do, Jim. And punish yourself far too much for something that I don’t consider wrong,” Chris pressed on, his hand suddenly felt very tight on Jim’s arm. “I don’t believe it was.”

“I thought you were…” Jim stopped himself midsentence.

“I know. So did I,” Chris replied firmly. “Let me speak to Boyce. Card or not, I’d prefer you left Space Dock. I’m sure he can get you on the next—”

“That’s out of the question,” Jim interjected. “Either we leave together or we don’t leave at all.”

Chris looked at Jim with both concern and exasperation. Jim didn’t care, Chris knew  better than to contest Jim on this.

Chris’ brow arched up. “From a strategic standpoint—“

“It’s not strategic.” Jim felt himself growing angry. “Chris, I’m not leaving Space Dock without you. Honestly, I wasn’t even planning to when we’d get the card. But I’ll be damned if I do it now.”

Chris sighed, but a hint of amusement overshadowed his abject exasperation. “I see, Well there’s no point arguing this any further.”

“You’re damn right.”

Boyce descended the stairs leading to his office as if summoned by the tense gap in Jim and Chris’s conversation. He was babbling words and it took a while for Jim to realize that he wasn’t speaking to himself but to Chris.

_“…Caitians of 15 Lyncis established communication…”_

Jim wasn’t listening and used Boyce’s distraction to his advantage as he quickly kissed Chris and quickly made his exit.

Chris who was half trying to listen to Boyce and half trying to speak to Jim moved up from his chair. But Jim settled his ease by offering him a smile. “Don’t worry, I’ll stay out of trouble if you will,” he said, not waiting for a reply.

Jim left The Pink Tribble as unhurriedly as he could. He walked through the promenade again, though this time he wasn’t sure where he was going or why. Bones’ café was out of the question for the time being. Bones had made his feelings very clear after all, and Jim doubted he would blend in there. Though he had to admit the temptation was very much there. What he would not have given to be able to just sit there, listening to M’Benga play and watching Bones from afar.

Going to the apartment they were staying in wasn’t much of an option either. He’d just be alone with his thoughts in that small room. No, much rather he stayed in a crowd, where the constant reality of being watched at least kept him on his toes. Jim always preferred being alone in a crowd and thoughts mulled over in solitude were often far more cruel than those enjoyed in company.

He wandered aimlessly for a while, until he found himself walking at a very large alcove, an open observation deck that currently had a direct view of Vulcan, its red surface an oddly calming sight. To see it, right there, one of the few remaining stable planets in the galaxy. It was an illusion, naturally, the Vulcans were just postponing the inevitable. Soon the Klingons would sink their fangs into that planet just as they’d done with the rest.

That is, unless they were able to find a way to fight it.

But there was no doubt that there was a way to beat the Klingons and beat them good.  

The bigger they are…

“Mr. Kirk.” Captain Spock’s greeting was so timed that Jim wouldn’t get the impression that he was being followed and Spock had been so courteous to make his presence known with such distance still between them that Jim could gather his thoughts. “I was not aware you were interested in the view of our planet. Might I suggest Observation Deck 5? It has an excellent view of the Fire Plains at the moment.”

“Thank you, I’ll keep that in mind,” Jim replied politely but made no inclination to move. He was cautious of Spock and wasn’t sure what to think of the Captain at all. He was a Vulcan, which meant that he could not lie at least, but Jim doubted that it would do him or Chris any good. After all, the captain had made his stance towards the war clear enough and it was not much in the favor of the Federation, let alone the Resistance.

Still…there was something peculiar about Spock, Jim wasn’t able to put his finger on it.

“Did you and Mr. Pike have a good night’s sleep?” Spock asked, trying to make conversation.

“Not really,” Jim replied, disinterested by the topic of their conversation but greatly interested in the man who spoke them. He gave the Captain a polite smile. “I trust you haven’t come to greet me to talk about your Space Dock’s sleeping facilities.”

One of Spock’s eyebrows arched up. “I was under the impression you humans favored small talk.”

“Not this human.”

“Mr. McCoy seemed to have been previously acquainted with you. I wished to know the nature of your relationship.”

Jim crossed his arms and leaned back a bit. “We fought on Axanar together, briefly,” he replied. “Both Starfleet personnel, but I bet you already knew that.”

“I personally conduct a background check on all high profile inhabitants of Vulcan Space Dock,” Spock agreed. “However I find it peculiar to hear you say your encounter was brief. Weren’t you stationed in the same location as McCoy’s medical regiment?”

“Correct. Together with dozens of other soldiers,” Jim replied easily. “Like I said, our encounters were brief. He was medical, you know the Federation had very little of them there, so everybody in camp knew McCoy. Usually wasn’t the other way around.”

“Usually, you say. Then there were some McCoy was very familiar with.”

“Yes.”

“And you were not one of them?”

Jim smirked, slightly amazed by the line of questioning the Captain was taking. Direct and pedantic like a Vulcan but also slightly obstinate…not a Vulcan trait.  

“Is there a particular direction you wish to take with your line of questioning, Captain?” he asked wryly.

“I do,” Spock replied.

“Then ask away. I was under the impression you Vulcans disliked small talk,” Jim offered. “And as I’ve said, I’m not much of a fan of it either.”

At the mention of his Vulcan heritage Spock’s face turned characteristically expressionless again.

“Very well, Mr. Kirk,” he said. “It must have come to your attention that a valuable item has been stolen from the Klingons. I believed a thief by the name of Harcourt Mudd to have been in possession of it. Now that I’ve found that he did not, my suspicions fall to Mr. McCoy.”

Jim’s earlier amusement disappeared. “Interesting, but I fail to see how this relates to me.”

“I disagree.”

“Why?”

“Because I believe you and Mr. Pike have come to a certain agreement with Mr. McCoy. After all the item is valuable only in the most capable hands, which is why I believe Mr. Pike has always been its original recipient. Unfortunately I have no way to confirm this theory.”

Jim scoffed. “Your prisoner not so talkative as you wished him to be?” he asked sardonically. Even he hadn’t thought that a man as ignominious as Harry Mudd would keep to some oath of secrecy. Then again, he was _human_ , perhaps he had more honor than Jim had always given him credit for.

“If by prisoner you mean Mr. Mudd, he is not in the position to speak at all. He has been sent to a prison planet hours after his incarceration. Rura Penthe, I trust you are familiar with it.”

The mere mention of Rura Penthe induced a slight panic in Jim, it was one thing to hear the words come from Chris’ mouth, where it was a bitter memory but here, spoken by Spock, they could be a prospect. Suddenly Jim realized just who he was speaking to, and just how much of a threat the Captain could turn himself out to be.

“Yeah, he knows the place,” Jim replied tightly, and he stepped closer to Spock, who was only slightly taller than him and whose built was not very much different than his, even though he knew there was the raw strength of a Vulcan beneath it. “May I offer a suggestion, Captain?” he asked, and without waiting for the answer which Spock was certainly going to give because he was Vulcan and didn’t understand the implication of a rhetorical question. “If you are so certain that Mr. McCoy is in possession of this precious item, why don’t you ask him? After all, it’s pretty clear I can’t help you any further.”

Spock did not move an inch. “So it seems. Send my regards to your husband, Mr. Kirk.”

“Will do, Captain.”

Spock left without as much as a lingering gaze, but Jim couldn’t take his eyes off the Captain until he was completely out of sight. It was all ill-boding; Bones hadn’t been prepared to give them the card, but there was no guarantee he would be as uncooperative with the Captain. Not if Bones was as determined to make Jim suffer as he thought he was.

Jim turned and watched how the red planet orbited in front of him, seeming now further away than ever before.

There was no question as to what Jim had to do in order to get Chris off Space Dock but until that moment he had always doubted whether he’d be able to go through with it.

Now that the stakes were greater and the risks higher there was no more time to hesitate.

After all, if he worked quickly he still had the upper hand and a bittersweet victory was still a victory.


	9. Chapter 9

** <_\\__o__  _\\__9__  _\\__o__> **

One of the least calculated things Leonard’ done with his life was establishing McCoy’s Terran Café.

It hadn’t been a matter of the mind, nor of the heart. He likened it to the way he’d enlisted into Starfleet, by chance and by desperation.

All his life he’d wanted to be a doctor, get married and have children. At one moment in time he’d had it _all_ , a single magnificent moment.

His wife had been the first to go, a divorce that Leonard imagined felt similar to being slowly skewered on a Klingon Bat’leth. Through no other fault but his own he’d lost a daughter in the process. As for his medical degree…well, he wasn’t practicing anymore.

The man who came to Space Dock was just a man, not a husband, barely a father and no MD behind his name if he could help it.

It was almost funny, almost, how everything Leonard had established once as being part of his being, of who he ‘was’ had left him so easily.

It didn’t matter though, sometimes it was best to leave the past for what it was.

Perhaps in time Jim too would be water under the bridge.

And Leonard was halfway through his transformation already, McCoy’s Café was living proof of that.

The night was restless, McCoy’s bustling and crowded. It felt hot inside, even though it couldn’t be. Leonard was running profits, just like every other day, and the credits, more than Leonard even knew what to do with, were pouring in. A bland notion; if the Klingons truly took over the entire galaxy like they planned he would have absolutely no use for them.

M’Benga was playing in the center of the room as usual, the sound of the piano almost drowned out by the accompanying band. People had moved their tables to the side to dance, alcohol poured like water and Giotto had to work overtime working the men and women out who were either too drunk or too broke for another round.

Leonard’s mind slowed in the thronging, he didn’t sit at his usual table but spent the night roaming his café from one spot to the next. The casino, past the band and between the many tables, later at the bar as well, where he sat at the corner deflecting conversation.

He recognized the many faces, the number of ships leaving Space Dock growing sparser by the way. They were all miserable. Their sanctuary a fresh hell they couldn’t leave. Leonard observed his all, his personal Divine Comedy.

Major Koloth and his followers entered the café and if that wasn’t Inferno in its purest form Leonard didn’t know what was. Knowing better than to refuse he shook his head to Giotto and watched how they claimed several tables for themselves.

Leonard had resigned himself, shrugged at everything the men ordered, all the whiskeys and wines and beers he had. They drank just like Leonard thought they would, uninhibited and boastful. Drinking too was a measure of strength for Klingons. They grew rowdy and less perceptive with each bottle they emptied, their lips on bottles of antique single malts as if it were water in the desert.

Had Major Koloth been sober he might’ve been paying attention, he might have seen that through even the thick crowd Christopher Pike too entered. M’Benga had moved his piano far away from the Klingons and their destructive nature and took a break from playing to speak with the members of the band. He quickly moved in Pike’s direction the second he recognized his face. They exchanged few words and then M’Benga placed a hand on Pike’s shoulder and moved him right to where he wanted to go.

It was only the second time Leonard actually saw the infamous retired Captain, other than the photos and holovids. He had to admit that neither had really done the man justice. Pike had seemed moralistic and intense in a way that only a man who was larger than life could seem. The actual Christopher Pike had a roughness come over him, an unpreparedness. In life Pike had the bearings of a twenty-first century humanitarian; a man pulled into a tragic destiny. Leonard could appreciate that sincerity.

“Mr. Pike,” Leonard began, offering a short nod. “No Tribble today?”

“A man needs variety every once in a while,” Pike replied, despite the crowd and the threat of Klingons so near his attention was only on Leonard.

“Then please,” Leonard said, gesturing his hand towards the side of the room furthest away from the Klingons. “I’ll get you a table close by the band. M’Benga will play whatever you please.”

“Mr. Pike isn’t here to hear me play, Leo,” M’Benga replied coolly. Anticipating Leonard’s behavior, he stayed close by Pike’s side, a clear confirmation of his personal allegiance.

“Of course he isn’t,” Leonard replied. It wasn’t as if he hadn’t expected this. He’d sent Jim away without a bang for his buck, of course he’d get Pike on his back in return. If he were honest to himself he’d wanted it to happen.

“I was hoping to speak to you in private, Mr. McCoy. If that is at all possible.”

Leonard saw the way M’Benga was looking at him, expectantly, no, more accusingly, as if he had already declined Pike’s request.

“Why not,” he said and met M’Benga eyes in challenge. “Follow me.”

Leonard hardly ever used the office connected to his café, much preferring being in the thick of the crowd even as he worked. The room was dusty, barren and a little unkempt. He offered Pike one of the two chairs available and sat down on the other one.

Leonard opened his mouth to offer Pike an Acamarian Brandy (he’d remembered it) but Pike didn’t give him a chance to.

“Philip Boyce has told me a great deal about you, doctor McCoy.”

Leonard scowled at the mention of his title. “Has he now?” he said coolly. “Only good things I hope?”

“Surgeons Decoration, Legion of Honor. You were the only doctor on Axanar who actually requested the position,” Pike continued.

“I was drafted.”

“Yes, of course, Boyce also told me about that.” There was a hint of amusement in Pike’s eyes. “Top of your class, had the pick of any job in the galaxy, yet decided to await the draft with your other peers. You knew only the positions at the front would remain.”

“Why I stand corrected, you obviously have me all figured out,” Leonard replied sardonically.  

“You flatter me.” Pike leaned over, closer to Leonard. “I know you have that card.”

Leonard narrowed his eyes. “What card?”

“And I want you to tell me why you won’t part with it.”

Leonard let out a little laugh. “And here I was thinking you’d come here to barter for it.”

Pike smirked in return, it was distinctly humorless. “I am a man of very low means at the moment. Besides, something tells me you neither want or need the money.”

“Perhaps, but giving you that card could very well be suicide, with the Major breathing down my neck and all,” Leonard replied. He quickly found that speaking to Pike was like constantly testing waters; he didn’t know how deep it went.  “What makes you think I haven’t dropped it down a chute, decided it wasn’t worth the trouble?”

“Because you care, doctor.”

“Oh? Well, I don’t think I care enough.”

Pike’s eyes hardened, he sat back up. “I was Starfleet just as you, and the men and women of the Fleet simply aren’t built for indifference. As for you, Mr.McCoy, you have a fascinating record of completely irrational, ethically ambiguous, rash decisions. I might take you for a man who cares too much but never for one who cares too little.”

Pike was watching him with interest, his choice of words were provoking but Pike, somehow, disarmed it readily. Leonard found it all terribly unnerving, as if they weren’t fighting at all as he’d hoped and expected.

“I wonder why a man such as you: a doctor who has spent most of life sacrificing himself for others is so reluctant to make a just decision.”

“Ask your husband,” Leonard snapped.

The words didn’t have the effect on Pike as Leonard had hoped. Pike’s face hadn’t moved at all and he looked neither confused nor shocked.

“I have,” Pike replied with a heavy voice, as if a sigh could follow any second. “I’d like to think this is more important than schadenfreude.”

The mention of the word made heat rise up Leonard’s neck. “And what if it isn’t?” he asked.

“Then you are a petty man, Leonard McCoy,” Pike replied drily. “And I have completely misjudged you.”

There was a silence there, like an impasse. Leonard didn’t know what he wanted more, put more fuel on the fire or prove Pike wrong. The same way heat rises, so did the imaginary heat of the café leak into Leonard’s little office. He felt restless, had all this energy to do or say something, but felt like a stranger in his own body.

Then, the room started shaking, ever so gently. It made the glass in the room sing and the walls tremble. At first Leonard thought he was imagining things until Pike looked at the tumbler glasses on the unused liquor cabinet with unease.

Pike stood up and without saying a word made his way back to the café, Leonard following.

Leonard recognized the Klingons’ singing, but felt a deep loathing when he spotted them, their hands and feet stomping in the rhythm of a song he knew all too well. Then he saw Spock by the bar, witnessing it all just as they did. His body was more erect than usual, as if he were being pulled up by an imaginary string.

Pike, who stood next to Leonard was quiet, his fists balled by his side and his eyes sharper than he’d ever seen them.

Everyone else in the café was quiet, afraid.  The Klingon’s Warrior’s Anthem had been the subject of many people’s nightmares, the trembling of the ground whenever a Klingon battlement approached. Instilling fear, that was all the song was meant to do, some people looked down, pretended they didn’t hear a thing.

Leonard’s heart beat like a drum, but he was not afraid. Quite the opposite. A single thought went through his mind: Never in his café, even if it’d cost him his life.

His eyes still on the Klingons he walked to the band. “The Federation Anthem, as loud as you can.” The band hesitated, looked at each other in fear and disbelief until Leonard’s anger flared. “Do it now, drown those bastards out!”

M’Benga, who needn’t be told twice set in the first note of the Federation Anthem, his fingers so forceful on the ivories the snares jolted. Then the band joined in, first a little apprehensive, but after a note or two with the same fervor as the Klingon’s had sung their own anthem.

Leonard couldn’t explain why, but the second the band began to join in he looked for Christopher Pike.

Pike was scowling, his fists were still balled but he nodded at Leonard when their eyes met, and Leonard nodded in return. Loudly singing the Standard lyrics of the Anthem Pike made his way to the bar, Leonard followed with his jaws shut tight.

A human couple who didn’t sit so far away from the band, stood up and joined in with Pike. Then, like a wave that gushed over the café, slowly all the customers at McCoy’s but the Klingons were singing, the Klingon Warrior Anthem now no less than a faint humming in the background.

At the bar, Leonard stood next to Spock while the barman, (singing so loudly he didn’t care that it was off-key), poured him his regular drink with such abandon that it spilled over the rim of the glass.

Spock didn’t say anything, he just raised his brow at Leonard the way he usually did, but his shoulders were less squared. Leonard raised his glass at him for a toast.

“To neutrality,” he said above the sound of the music. The glass in his hand barely touched his lip when he felt a stinging pain of a fist to his jaw. His mind reeling, he could see the second fist coming for him just as he turned, but wasn’t quick enough to get the enraged Klingon from punching him in the face, until his bartender smashed a half-empty bottle on top of the Klingon’s head, subsequently knocking him out.

What followed was absolute chaos, the numerous customers in the café running for the exits while many of its employees flung themselves at the Klingons, Leonard himself included. In fact he was about to get the upper hand on one of them when Spock stepped in and grabbed the Klingon by the shoulder, who slumped down like a ton of bricks.

“Enough,” Spock said. He had called his men, and Space Dock security personnel managed to break up the fight almost as quickly as it had begun.

Major Koloth who’d been throwing tables and chairs through the café like a madman yelled in rage, not because of the fight, but because it had been stopped. “This man has no honor!”

Leonard sneered and would have made an attempt for the major’s throat if it weren’t for Spock, who was strong, to hold him back.

“Clearly,” Spock replied. Leonard just couldn’t believe Spock could hold him so tight while keeping his voice so level he could very well be talking about the weather.

Officer Kroth, who felt like this was the time to offer _his_ say, spoke up. “If he were on Klingon territory, we would have the man executed for this!” he yelled.

Leonard spit on the floor in reply.

Spock remained unflappable. “I’m sure,” he said, keeping Leonard from speaking his mind by steadily pushing into a terribly painful spot on his shoulder. “However, this is Vulcan territory. As such it is _my_ duty to settle for a suitable penalty for Mr. McCoy. As agreed.”

Spock didn’t wait for the Klingon’s reply. Instead he addressed the men and the women still in the establishment, Leonard’s employees. “Return to you quarters. As of now the café is closed until further notice.”

None of the employees moved, their eyes all fixed on Leonard. “Go,” Leonard said, nodding at the door. “ _Now_.” They all left, slowly and reluctant until Leonard was the only human remaining between a group of Klingons and Vulcans.

Major Koloth was no fool. Klingons, despite their aggressive nature, seldom were. With the humans gone but one he’d more or less composed himself, though his nostrils were still flaring.

“I trust the human will be justly punished for harboring war prisoner Christopher Pike.”

The mention of Pike shot a wave of panic through Leonard. In the chaos he had forgotten all about the former captain, where had he gone? Was he hurt?

“I will make sure of it,” Spock replied shortly.

With Spock having deescalated the situation, it still took some Vulcan convincing to make the Klingon men leave McCoy’s Café together with his Vulcan officers. Major Koloth especially seemed only interested to leave if it included Leonard’s head on a stick.

Leonard would’ve loved to see the man try.

Spock and Leonard watched them all leave, in the midst of the ruined café.

Once they were alone, Leonard shrugged Spock’s arm off and limped to the bar counter. He grabbed his old medical kit which he kept for emergencies, took out his dermal regenerator and pulled up a chair.

McCoy’s Terran Café didn’t really have a lot going for itself when there was no one inside. Now that just about every square inch of the place was wrecked, it looked even less.

Spock, who had made himself comfortable by upturning a table and chair and pouring himself a sherry, didn’t do much for the scenery either.

A little impatient Leonard ran the device over his aching jaw and tried to use his reflection in a half-empty, surprisingly intact, bottle of Saurian brandy to check his aim. Even through the dark glass he could discern a black eye.

“I did not know you kept your Starfleet issued medical supplies,” Spock said in between sips from his sherry. “And I see you have not completely lost your medical skill.”

“If you can flip a switch and aim you can use a dermal regenerator,” Leonard muttered, trying to keep his jaw as still as possible while he worked. “What happened to Pike?”

“Your piano player removed him from the café,” Spock said. “Which I believed was your idea.”  

Leonard side-eyed Spock. “Does that sound like something I would do.” Spock raised his brow and Leonard rolled his eyes. “Don’t answer that question.”

Spock did not. He took another sip from his brandy while Leonard mended his skin.

“You know,” he started. “If you still want to search my place for that card, now’s as good a time as any. You can’t trash the place any more than it already is.” Leonard moved the regenerator to his left eye, managing a balancing act on his chair so he could rest his elbow on his knee.

 “Clearly,” Spock replied. “Though I would prefer it if force didn’t have to be applied to the situation.”

“That horse has already bolted, Spock.” Even though the lesion under his eye wasn’t completely healed, Leonard switched off the regenerator, already tired of its constant humming. “But I admire your resolute belief in pacifism. And that under the rule of Klingons, I tip my hat to you, sir.” He slid off his stool and limped up to Spock, pulled in a chair and sat down with a pained hiss.  “So, humor me. Let’s say you _had_ that card. What would you do with it?”

“I would return it to the Klingon Empire as a sign of goodwill,” Spock replied without a second of hesitation.  

Leonard frowned. “Yyou…you can’t be serious,” he stuttered. “ _Goodwill_? To a race that lacks a word for gratitude?” he asked incredulously.

“Apologies, I was not aware you were an expert on the species, doctor,” Spock replied.

“I’ve stood on the wrong end of a disruptor pistol more times than I can count. But excuse me if I appear a little biased,” Leonard said, unconsciously biting at the cut on the inside of his lip. “Speaking of which, you know you’ve just selected the most expensive bottle of sherry I have in stock right now?”

“It’s excellent,” Spock replied.

“I bet it is you green-blooded pointy-eared crook,” he grumbled. “Go ahead and pour me one. We’ll raise a glass to Klingon goodwill.”


	10. Chapter 10

** <_\\__o__  _\\__10__  _\\__o__> **

Jim had never believed that misery loved company as much as when it came to Bones. Unlike himself, or Chris, who preferred to keep their weaknesses and hurts to himself, Bones was wont to bare it all.

He couldn’t not, that was Bones’ nature.

The café was wrecked and deserted. An empty sherry bottle graced the only table left upright and there were no glasses.

Bones was snoring, his face plastered on the tabletop he leaned on. Sometimes he shifted and groaned in pain and discomfort. He looked like he’d been in a fight.

There was little place for pity as Jim pressed the phaser between Bones’ shoulder blades and he did it quickly, so that there was no going back. Bones rose slowly, as if he weren’t really sleeping at all, until his back was straight. He yawned.

“My heart’s a little more to the left, actually,” he said calmly. “So if you’re going to pull that trigger I suggest you do it right.”

“Don’t move,” Jim said.

The sound of Jim’s voice visibly tensed Bones’ shoulders, Jim pushed the phaser a little tighter against his back.

“This is one hell of a plan B, Jim,” Bones muttered, he slowly turned his head to the side, but Jim doubted whether Bones could see him from his peripherals.

“Desperate times,” Jim replied. He could tell his blood was rushing with adrenaline and he felt hot all over, as if he were burning. He swallowed and his mouth felt dry.

“You know your husband was here just a few hours ago.” Bones’ act was stoic, whether he actually felt that way was hard to say. “He had a bit more sense of decorum than you did though.” He talked unconsciously, determined to fill the silence. “I wonder, where does one find well-behaved diplomats these days?”

“Bones.” Jim emphasized the word with another prod of the phaser and Bones let out a laugh. Raising his arms up in mocking surrender he turned slowly on his chair so he could face Jim. Jim stepped back and let him.

Face to face Bones looked even more a mess than Jim imagined. Skin bruised, dried old blood and a black eye. Bones was scrutinizing him in the same way, tilting his head.

“Now there’s the Jim I know,” he said, and he smirked but it looked sad.

The Jim he knew still had the phaser aimed for his heart but he was right. It’d been a while since Jim felt so much like himself. 

“So what _is_ this plan of yours? Shoot now, ask questions later?” Bones asked. “Because I’m not telling you a single thing as long as you have that barrel pointed at me.”

Jim didn’t say anything. But the weight of the phaser felt heavy and redundant in his hand.

 

Bones was not afraid to die, neither was Jim. They never were and they never would be.

He took a couple of steps back so he could pull a chair closer, sat down and placed the phaser on his lap. His fingers still hovered by the trigger. It was of no use now, he knew he wouldn’t pull it.

“Who did this to you, Bones?” he asked with a low voice.

Bones looked up, his black eye barely open. “Why do you want to know?” he replied reproachfully.

“Bones.” Jim had to repeat the name over and over again, it’d been too long. He was just getting used to it rolling off his tongue again, like language barely spoken but never forgotten. He sighed in exasperation and noticed the open medical kit on the bar counter, the dermal regenerator thoughtlessly tossed on top of the other instruments, its display still glowing.

It made Jim furious to think that Bones had barely used it.

“It was Koloth, wasn’t it?” he snapped, dropping the phaser on the ground, walking over to the counter and swiping the regenerator off. He turned it on and pulled his chair closer to Bones. He took such a tight grip on Bones’ chin he expected Bones to recoil immediately. “Why’re you so determined to pick fights all the time. Talking before thinking…he could’ve killed you.”

It took a second for Bones to realize, and he only pulled away from Jim just when he moved the regenerator closer.

It was a weak attempt and Jim wouldn’t have it. “Sit still,” he said, slowly moving the regenerator up and down the bruise on Bones’ jaw.

Stubborn as Bones was Jim half-expected him to make another attempt to push or, if necessary, punch Jim away. But Bones did nothing of the sort. Instead he took a deep, unsteady breath and almost slouched right off his chair if it weren’t for Jim holding him upright with his own weight.

Jim pretended not to notice, and shifted to accommodate. “Look up,” he said, moving to the grazes on his cheek. His gaze kept being pulled to Bones’ left eye, which was dark and swollen. He tried not to; Bones was watching him incessantly.

“Pike wanted to talk about us,” Bones said. When Jim didn’t react he arched a brow. “You knew?”

“No, but I know Chris.” Jim was examining the dermal regenerator in his hand. “How do you configure it for the cornea again?”

Bones took the device from Jim and before he could protest he had tapped at the display a couple of times and handed it back to him. “You told him,” Bones pressed on.

“I did.”

“And?”

“And what?” Jim asked impatiently. “He knows and that’s it.”

They didn’t talk after that. Jim was too focused on fixing the bruises on Bones’ face to open his own mouth. It wasn’t a bad development. Jim was sick of fighting all the time. Bones wasn’t so determined as to pick them anymore either, and for that Jim was grateful.

When the dark skin around Bones’ left eye had finally faded completely Jim sat back and clicked the dermal regenerator off.

“I doubt I did any better than you could’ve done yourself.” He turned his head, looking at the phaser that he’d left so carelessly on the ground. Then he sighed and closed his eyes. “Something needs to happen,” he said, more breath than voice.

Jim focused on the sound of Bones’ breathing. “Yeah,” he replied. He heard Bones stand up and walk and Jim cracked an eye open to see how Bones gingerly bent down to pick the phaser up and then continued to walk to the piano on the back wall of the bar, it looked far too damaged to play anymore, but still stood tall between the wreckage. Bones leant over the sound box and took something out of it.  

When he turned around he held a card up in his hand that was so unmistakable that Jim shot wide awake. He was still wrapping his head around it as Bones approached with his slow unsteady gait and reached out, the bright blue card in his palm. “Here,” Bones said, his words in tandem with the gesturing of his hand.

Jim didn’t move, he stared at Bones’ hand until Bones grabbed him by the wrist. Bones’ hand guided his own, placed the card in it and gently pushed his fingers so they’d wrap around it. The card felt icy cold in his hand, lighter than Jim thought it’d be somehow, so fragile he could easily crush it in his hand if he’d wanted to.

Bones turned and was moving away from him, took a step, then another. By the third Jim felt like he was frowning, and there was nothing he wanted more than to punch Bones right across the jaw. “Why give this to me now?” he asked.

Bones turned to look at Jim. “Does it matter?”

“Yes!”

The sounds Bones made seemed a lot like cursing, but the words were inaudible. He balled his hands in a fist and came for Jim, and for a split second Jim thought they really were going to fight. _Good_. He slapped the card on the table and braced for the impact, but when Bones came for him it wasn’t with fists but with open palms, his hands on Jim’s shoulders, shaking. And Bones’ expression was nothing like anger.

“What else do you want from me?” he asked. The question was genuine.

“I don’t know,” Jim snapped in reply, tense all over as he gripped on Bones’ wrists and either pulled or pushed, he couldn’t tell.

Bones wrung himself loose as if a spark of electricity broke them apart. “Of course you don’t,” he said acidly. “You never did.” He took his dermal regenerator from the table and walked back to the bar.

Jim watched how Bones neatly placed the content of his old medical kit back in order and clicked it shut with the single still working clasp. Then his eye was back on the card he’d slapped on the table, completely up for grabs.

He began feeling worse for it, his body felt stiff and he pulled his hands through his hair as if it would give him comfort. It didn’t.

“Bones,” he began. It sounded like a question, but he continued when Bones stopped moving again. He was listening. “Where will you go when the Klingons get to Vulcan Space Dock? I mean…when they really get to it.”

“I’ll be right here,” Bones replied with a gruff voice. He was walking to the other side of the bar, momentarily out of sight as he stowed his kit away. “It’s called _McCoy’s_ Café.”

“Come with us.” Jim’s mouth was moving too fast for his mind and he wondered whether he was having a moment of clarity in all of the madness or that he had now, finally, lost his mind.

“What?” Bones jolted from a sting of pain as he turned too quickly.

“Come with us,” Jim said again, now cocksure. He stood up from his chair and left the data card untouched, as if it were still not truly in his possession. “There are still some ships willing to take us. Even more so now that we have that card.”

“Of all the dumb ideas in the galaxy,” Bones muttered. Then his voice directed to Jim. “And just what do you expect is going to happen after that, Jim? You and your husband, and your… _ex-beau_ or whatever the hell I might be, are just going to hop over to Axanar unnoticed? Will we defeat the Klingon Empire with our non-existent military resources after that? Is that what you think is going to happen?”

“Well, you can’t stay here,” Jim protested, he’d done his best to bite his tongue until then. He pointed at the card on the table. “Giving that to us is an act of war, Bones.”

“We’re already at war, Jim,” Bones replied. His calm voice made Jim want to scream.

“That’s not what I meant and you know it.” Jim shot up from his chair and his voice was tight and low. “They’ll have your head for this. Major Koloth is not a fool. He’ll know, sooner rather than later.”

“I can accept that.”

“I can’t, I…” The anger Jim felt made him feverish and the words that followed and he had every intention to say floated away in his mind again. He focused on the specks of red on Bones’ shirt until he’d moved so close that he could count them all. Unconsciously he reached for one on the collar of Bones’ shirt.

Bones took his hand again, just as gentle as he’d done before. “You get what you want, Jim. I’m trying to make it easier.”  

A fear settled in Jim’s stomach like heavy rocks. If he left with that card, then the touch of Bones’ hand on his own and their conversation would most likely be their last. Some choices were hardly ever choices at all.

“This isn’t what I want,” he said, looking at both their hands. Bones’ touch was almost smothering, his hand hadn’t moved and the skin there was so cool that he had goosebumps. “I imagined a million different ways in which we could meet again, Bones. What I’d say, what I’d do.” He was babbling again. Bones’ hand on him moved tighter.

“Oh,” Bones replied. “How are we hanging?”

Jim smirked, eyes on the ceiling in thought. “Not the best…not the worst,” he replied. When he looked at Bones again he didn’t even blink. “You still haven’t told me why you’ve had a change of heart all of a sudden.”

Bones sigh was so exasperated it almost reminded him of more carefree times. “Can’t a man have a change of heart, Jim?”

“You won’t tell me,” Jim concluded. The look Bones gave him in reply confirmed it. Well, maybe that was the way it had to be.

Then suddenly there was that sinking feeling again, as if it were all too much too strong. The room spun like a carousel and Jim reached behind him, his arm catching the edge of the bar counter when his legs began to give in.

He sat down on the ground, his back leaning on the counter.

Bones crouched down on the ground and without saying anything pressed the back of his hand on Jim’s forehead. “You’re running a fever, Jim,” he said, he looked more irritated than concerned.

“’m fine,” Jim replied, turning his head, away from the hand.

Bones made an annoyed sound and moved to stand up to go to the other side of the bar again. Jim who knew the drill by now caught him by the hand and kept him there. “I said I’m fine.”

Bones pulled himself free. “You’re not.” He disappeared behind the bar and came back with his medical kit again in tow.

Jim didn’t protest anymore. There was very little point to it, and frankly, he didn’t have the energy. He could tell Bones noticed by the way he hesitated for a split second.

He remembered their first encounter, and the subsequent weeks in Axanar where he’d been trying to find a twenty-nine year old doctor whose name he never learned.

The card was there within his reach, finally, but so was Bones. And he could not have one without leaving the other.

Bones knelt in front of him, so little space between them that he could feel him breathing. His hand was on his neck, barely touching, his eyes focused up the way he did when he was thinking. Were his eyes unclear before they were now bright and wide open, his own pain long forgotten as if it’d never been there in the first place. This was the Bones he’d met on Axanar.  

His fingers slid off Jim’s skin and Jim shuddered. He’d wanted to grab them with both hands, making sure he’d never leave.

He moved forward, pressed his lips on the edge of Bones’ jaw, and when Bones moved back enough to make it stop, he expects it and it still hurts.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered, his body still singularly aware of Bones’ hand on the back of his neck. He closed his eyes again.

“Jim,” Bones said. “Jim.” Waiting patiently until Jim opened his eyes, Bones smirked. “It’s all right.” And Jim wasn’t sure what to do with the words offered. Or what to say when Bones raked his fingers through Jim’s hair, or leaned over to take his breath away.

He kissed him slow and gentle and all too short.

And because Bones never changed, he could’ve expected the faint sting he felt as a hypospray pierced into his neck.

“You’ll feel better in a little while.”

“Of course,” Jim replied. “We’ll wait until it does.”

Bones sat down on the floor, his shoulder to Jim’s shoulder and his leg against Jim’s leg.

The card was still on the table and Bones was right next to him.

Jim desired nothing else but for the moment to last a little longer.   


	11. Chapter 11

** <_\\__o__  _\\__11_  _\\__o__> **

McCoy’s office was silent and empty. Not equipped for anything and a waste of the Space Dock’s already limited spatial capacity.

Spock sat there and listened.

It had been an interesting conversation.

Mr. Kirk and McCoy had been fighting until they weren’t, and they were so silent now that even Spock’s ears couldn’t catch a word.

They had the kind of relationship that Spock did not expect, but now that he knew it wasn’t so hard to imagine.

Of course, McCoy’s lack sensibility and self-control would have him offering his affections to the least suitable, and although he didn’t know Mr. Kirk well, judging by the company he had he too was not a man discouraged by inconveniences.

What they both lacked, Spock thought to himself, was a bit of sense.

Time passed and Spock waited for a long time before he heard McCoy’s heavy tread closing in on the door. When Spock opened it McCoy stood steps away from the doorway and looked at him reproachfully, as if Spock had already said something he deemed disagreeable.

“Will he bring him to me?” Spock asked.

McCoy’s gaze turned contemptuous. “What other choice does he have?” he growled. His eyes were narrow and his stance preemptive. Every word he said prepared like a physical assault.

“You have my word that Mr. Kirk will not get hurt,” Spock said.

McCoy scoffed, turned around and walked back into the café, Spock stood up and followed albeit slowly.

McCoy stood at the bar and pretended to place his medical kit back in order, but even from the other side of the room Spock could tell that the instruments were already neatly in place.

“You told him you could get them on a ship.” Spock approached further his hands behind his back as he walked about the messy café. “It speaks for your relationship that he believed you.”

McCoy did not react to that, his hands were still on the silver instruments of his medical kit, but he’d stopped moving.

“Do you still wish to be present?” Spock asked.

Temporary stillness forgotten, McCoy whipped his head around. “I said so, didn’t I?” he snapped. “How else am I going to know whether you’re going to keep your word?”

Spock arched his brow. “You and Mr. Kirk will receive safe passage from Space Dock. Vulcans do not lie.”

“Save it.” McCoy was noisily moving around again in that coarse way humans were very good at. “As much as you want to deny it, that human side of yours creeps up every once in a while, and I’d rather not have it be this time.”

“As I’ve said—,” Spock began, trying to reason with McCoy who was so clearly showing his own lack of intellect.

“I said _save it_.”

So Spock said no more. There were hardly any less fruitful endeavors than having an argument with McCoy.

He waited as McCoy loitered, which was the right word, but there was no hurry. Once again they were waiting, and there was no sherry to keep them company or to fill the silence.

Spock never minded the quiet, especially when there weren’t any worthwhile topics to speak about. Yet, he found himself strangely uncomfortable by the silence now, he was…curious, no…questioning was a more fitting word.

For as little as he understood McCoy, his actions had never been as striking as they were now. Never this rash when it came to his own desires. Spock always deemed McCoy more of a self-sacrificial type, dour, all under a very superficial veneer of devil-may-care attitude.

Many saw right through it, including Spock.  

He’d been the least ‘McCoy’ he’d ever seen him, and he wasn’t sure what that meant.

“You’d best go back into that lair of yours,” McCoy said after a while, nodding into the direction of his unused office. “Could be here any minute.”

Spock stood up and moved back to the old room, but unlike last time, he didn’t sit down. This time he stood in the open doorway and listened carefully.

///

Pike seemed like an altogether different man than hours ago, but he was unchanged whereas Leonard was not. He didn’t hate Christopher Pike, was even relieved to find him unharmed by the events of the evening. But they didn’t shake hands when he entered, and Jim stood between them as if tying them together on a taut fraying string.

“Jim trusts you,” Pike said as if that were explanation enough. But his eyes were fixed on Leonard, waiting for that single moment where he could see right through him.

Leonard looked away and faced Jim instead, whose expression was only determination. He was the least apprehensive out of all of them. “When will we leave?” he asked.

“A minute,” Leonard replied. “Just a minute.” He stepped out of Jim’s wake and into Pike’s. He wasn’t sure whether he should ask but a question burned on his tongue.

“Your piano player is safe,” Pike replied, reading his mind. “He says he’ll take care of everyone should things go south.”

“Haven’t they already gone south,” Leonard replied. He knew that ‘taking care’ meant something else in M’Benga’s vocabulary than his own but he still smirked in relief. “I knew he’d do whatever he damn well pleased.”

“Well, you’re already out of business from the look of things,” Pike said, with a hint of his own well-mannered and out-of-place humor.

“I’ve come by with less, believe it or not.” Leonard looked around his own café one last time. “And believe you me, I’d never leave if I didn’t know they were all safe. They’re my responsibility, you know.”  

Pike smiled. “Spoken like a true man of the Fleet.”

“Yeah, yeah.” Leonard lightly shook his head, and from the corner of his eye he noticed Jim’s slight smile but kept his gaze away and to the door. “Follow me,” he said. Not sparing a last look back.

When Leonard took a step out of the door he knew McCoy’s Terran Café was no more.

The somber feeling came over him but was quickly replaced by more pressing matters.

“Follow me,” he said and instead of leading the straightforward route through the promenade he turned into a narrow passageway, up into the dimly lit mezzanine. Jim and Pike moved with careless ease which meant they had done this many times before. Standing behind each other not next and moving behind Leonard without following him.

They moved up with the employee restricted turbolift, then headed left.

Another narrow passageway but quieter, in fact as they walked through the corridor there was that uneasiness of being the only ones there. This area was officially off-limits to civilians and refugees, and Leonard had only been here once before himself. He didn’t think he’d be coming in again.

“A long way to the docking bay,” Pike said offhandedly. The distrustfulness didn’t make him walk slower but a little faster, and he moved shoulder to shoulder with Leonard now.

“We’re not going to docking bay, yet,” Leonard replied. “I can’t get you there on my own. I need back-up.”

Pike stopped walking. “What kind of back-up?”

Leonard waited a second before replying. “You have to trust me. Please.”

“We do,” not Pike but Jim replied. “We trust you.” But it was only when Jim’s hand grazed over Pike’s upper arm when the man continued to walk.

“In there.” Leonard pointed at a door at the far end of the corridor, pushed in a code in the control panel and the door opened with a sigh.  

The largest of all observatories was never meant to be occupied by anyone else but the captain of Vulcan Space Dock and his most distinguished guests. As was customary for the Vulcans it was a soberly decorated room, large, very much so, the outer wall offering an almost 180 degrees view of the galaxy around them. In front of them was Vulcan, a large red semi-sphere that seemed so close you could imagine touching the surface if you reached far enough.

Jim walked up to the glass until his fingers could almost touch it. He looked down and saw every ship entering and leaving Vulcan Space Dock.

Almost subconsciously, Pike moved to follow, but he had barely taken one step when he changed his mind. Turned his head around to take one last look at Leonard, arms crossed and unmoving.

Leonard could read the cautious fear in Pike’s eyes. “Jim!” he said, but it was too late.

The door opened again.

///

Spock’s phaser was aimed right at Pike’s heart.

In a split second Kirk had moved to the other side of the room, by Pike’s side, his body facing his way as if to shield him, and his eyes scanning his expression.

“Hands where I can see them,” Spock said and Pike slowly raised his arms up in surrender.

Spock walked further into the room.

“Mr. Kirk, if you would.” Kirk’s eyes moved to Spock, his expression heatedly defiant. He didn’t move an inch.

It didn’t matter.

“Mr. Pike, I am here to place you under arrest.”

“On what charges?”

“Receipt of stolen property. A Klingon object.”

“The card,” Pike said, as if he’d only now understood.

“Obviously,” Spock replied. “You will accompany me to my office, where you will be held for questioning. I will recite you your rights there if you would so prefer.”

Neither of them replied, but Spock moved his phaser from Pike to Kirk when he saw him move.

“I have promised to let you go free, Mr. Kirk, on McCoy’s behalf,” he explained. “However if you attempt anything else, I’ll have no choice but to shoot you.”

Kirk did not seem reassured or impressed, his eyes hadn’t once glanced in McCoy’s direction. He moved closer to Spock, who still held the phaser aimed at him. “You will not get to him without shooting me first.”

“I’ll also place you under arrest Mr. Kirk, for aiding and abetting a fugitive.” Spock put his attention back on Pike. “Mr. Pike if you would follow me.”

He moved to turn but found that he couldn’t. A familiar blunt object pressed into the small of his back.

“I don’t think he will, Spock,” McCoy said from behind him, the phaser still tight against his skin. “Drop the phaser.”

“This was not what we agreed on, McCoy,” Spock said, doing as he was told and letting his phaser drop to the ground.

“Humans lie, Spock,” McCoy replied, kicking the phaser away and towards Kirk, who picked it up.

“Vulcans don’t lie, right?” Kirk aimed the phaser at Spock. “Is there really a ship that can get us out of here?”

“Yes.”

Kirk set the phaser to kill. “Which one?”

“The Gankerev VI, an Andorian transport ship. They will not accept unless I give the word.”

“That’s why I’m here,” McCoy said.

“Bones.” Kirk had slightly lowered his phaser so he could look at McCoy.

Spock heard McCoy sigh behind him. “Now don’t you go saying something. I told you to trust me so I could get it done. Well, I did didn’t I?”

Jim didn’t reply.

“Care for a reasonable request from a petty man?” Pike’s expression changed, it was him McCoy was addressing.

“Go ahead.”

“I know it’s a bit of a tall order, but try to stay alive. Both of you.”

“I’ll do what I can,” Pike replied with a slight smile. “As I do hope we will meet again, doctor.”

McCoy chuckled. “That _is_ a tall order.” He turned his attention back to Spock. “Do your officers know where you are, Spock?” he asked.

“Eventually, they will find out.”

“Then you’d better hurry down, I’ll have the captain issue free passage to the ship once you get there.”

“Good man.” Pike put his hand on Kirk’s shoulder, who had lowered his phaser all the way down and had visibly calmed. They walked past Spock and McCoy, but from his peripherals Spock could still see Kirk halt for a second. “Stay alive and we’ll find you.”

“I’ll keep you to that, Jim,” McCoy replied.

Pike and Kirk left the observation deck, and Spock waited at gunpoint, and gave the order, as it flew away towards the Andorian Ship.

When the ship moved into warp, McCoy finally lowered his phaser and threw it on the ground.

“I surrender,” he said, holding his hands over his head and taking a step back from Spock.

Silently, Spock pinched his right hand on McCoy’s left shoulder, until he lost consciousness and slipped down on the ground.

Then he took out his communicator to issue a new warrant on one Christopher Pike and James Tiberius Kirk.

 


	12. Chapter 12

The world didn’t shake nor did it tremble. There were far worse ways to wake up than from a nerve pinch inside a Vulcan holding cell. Leonard could’ve not woken up at all.

Not that he was in any way surprised, not even to find Spock watching him on the other side of the impenetrable clear wall that separated him from his freedom. Spock’s brow was arched per usual, albeit a little higher in his, dare Leonard believe it,annoyance.

“They got away,” Leonard said, his voice feeling and sounding as dry as sandpaper.

Spock inclined his head. Leonard felt too tired to even try to understand.

“Well?” Leonard asked, arms crossed. He licked his lower lip and leaned on the prison wall.

“The ship holding Mr. Pike and Mr. Kirk has been intercepted,” Spock’s voice was as monotone as ever which frightened Leonard. So he closed his eyes and mentally braced himself for a gamble lost.

“The two fugitives were not found. We assume they have changed ships before our arrival.”

Leonard had clenched his fists, nails digging into skin there. He sat down on the secured bench next to him, his head buried inside the palms of his hands.

“I thought you would be pleased,” Spock said.

“Who says I’m not?” Leonard muttered, wiping his hands down his cheeks as if he were washing his face.

He imagined Spock snorting at the words if he was anyone else, but instead the Vulcan captain returned to his desk, writing, in silence.   

Very likely a most truthful account of Pike’s swift visit to Vulcan Space Dock.

A thought crossed Leonard’s mind. “What’ll they do with you?”

“I will be discharged as captain,” Spock replied. “For being outmaneuvered by an illogical human such as yourself.”

Leonard ignored the insult. “So, what, they’re going to fire you?” Leonard resumed his upright position by the prison wall.

“That is indeed what I said, Dr. McCoy. Standard is your primary language I presume?”

Leonard snorted. Spock was definitely annoyed.

“More or less,” Leonard replied, feeling conversational. “Got any retirement plans? Vacation home on Risa? Some dusty desert villa waiting for you on Vulcan?”

“Risa is occupied by the Klingon Empire, it is no longer a recreational planet.”

“You don’t say.” Leonard’ known that for months, but the idea of pestering Spock in his last hours as a _somewhat_ free man somehow soothed him. “Thought you could visit as the major’s honorary guest.”

Spock looked up from his work. “Their most wanted criminal escaped under my direct jurisdiction.”

“But you’ve got me to show for it, don’t you?”

Spock gave Leonard a long hard stare. “I can assure you that your worth to the Klingon Empire will elude the Klingons about as much as it eludes me.”  He focused back on his work.

Their conversation effectively ended, Leonard began pacing the tiny cell, swinging his arms and trying his hardest to let neither his tiredness or antsy-ness get the better of him.

Leonard kept rubbing his face, pinching his cheeks, struggled to stay awake. It was an odd feeling, being concerned for yourself for once. No family, no employees…no Jim. He found himself unable to do it properly, that is, the way he could do with others. He didn’t like the prospect of Rura Penthe either, nor dying.

But he had greater dreams than _just_ living, dreams that he would be willing to die for if needed.

One of them happened to be on Earth, the other headed for another danger in another part of the universe.

The galaxy would still be there without him; no solar system would implode with the lack of his presence. So wherever Leonard was heading to next, he decided to simply ride it out, like a long shuttle ride. The only thing he hoped for was to know when the ride was going to end.

Nothing wrong with that.

“Major Koloth will not kill you on Vulcan Space Dock,” Spock said suddenly. “Not while our treaties are still enforced.”

The words were meant to soothe. It only piqued Leonard’s interest.

“Have you alerted them already?”

“I will not have to. Klingon Intelligence is very efficient. I expected them in my office within the hour. They are on their way now.”

As if Spock had summoned them after all, Leonard heard strange rattling sounds in the distance, sounds that Spock had already noticed long before. The noise gradually increased, men shouting and the sound of destruction with it.  

“What _is_ that?” Leonard asked, trying to find an angle where he could see the door a little better.

“That would be the Klingons,” Spock replied. “Obviously.” Spock kept on working as if there was nothing but peace and quiet surrounding him until there was a loud banging on the door.

Before the major could run it down, Spock opened it with the press of a button and stood up from his seat to give the major his demanded respect.

The major didn’t reciprocate. “Spock!” he yelled. “Spock!!” The Klingon men surrounding him were seething too but in respect of their superior stayed quiet and let the major do the roaring.

“Major,” Spock replied calmly, so much so that his voice inflected almost too high, as if the entire procession of Klingos was just an untimely surprise. He didn’t seem all that aware that he was the subject of Koloth’s anger, for his mien looked the same as when he’d done during his paperwork.

“How may I help you?” Spock asked with such politeness, Leonard would’ve laughed if he wasn’t so on edge. 

“You’ve let them escape!!!”

“I can assure you that was not my intention,” Spock replied. “I have retrieved their getaway ship, however we could not find them.”

It was not the right reply. Leonard let out a cry when the major drew his bat’leth up and over his head as if ready to strike. Alarmed himself, Spock jumped away from his desk just before the blade struck into the middle of the console. Sparks flew and there was the sound of electricity short-circuiting followed by a red light that lit the entire room and a whooping siren that sounded not only in Spock’s office but most likely also alerted the ship’s security personnel.

Four Vulcan officers entered Spock’s office, waiting for Spock’s signal. Leonard noticed the slightest shake of Spock’s head that made his security personnel stand down. Then addressed the major.

“If you would be so kind to have your men vacate my office we may speak privately,” he said, so coolly that he may as well have invited the man for tea.

Officer Kroth roared. “The time for negotiations if over! You are _without honor_!”

Even Leonard knew that the officer had spoken out of turn, and luckily so, because it took one roar from the major at his murderous entourage, “Leave!” for them to disperse.

It didn’t soothe the tenseness in the room one bit.

The major had pulled the Bat’leth from Spock’s console and placed it over his lap before he sat down.

The console made an uncomfortable whirring sound and every now and then it still sparked a little here and there, but Spock didn’t pay it any mind.  

“Why was Pike not captured with the ship, _captain_?” the major asked, though his voice was still very loud, and more accusative than inquiring.

“Because they were not on it, obviously,” Spock replied with a dry voice. “And as to how they’ve managed to do so. I do not know.”

Leonard jumped when the major roared again, the bat’leth once again heaved up and swung down on Spock’s desk, creating a second cleft halfway through. Another bang and crackle, and the force-field surrounding Leonard’s cell disappeared. Though neither Spock nor the major noticed.

Unsure of what to do, Leonard made no attempt to breach the imaginary wall that ended his holding cell knowing that any excuse the major had to slice anything other than a lifeless machine in half (say the attempted escape of a Vulcan prisoner) he would take whole-heartedly.

Spock didn’t even blink and only glanced up when the major stood up to pull the bat’leth out “We will not forget this, Spock. Harboring and aiding a fugitive.” Koloth braced his leg on the smooth edge of the console for extra leverage as he kept pulling at the sword. “This is a declaration of war from the Vulcans.. We will not accept this betrayal.”

Leonard didn’t like the direction their conversation was going at all. He spoke before his mind managed to finish a single thought or before his common sense made him bite his tongue. “He didn’t aid a damn soul.”

From the looks of it the major hadn’t even noticed his presence until now. And just as the blade was freed from the console with a scraping sound he looked at Leonard, almost pleased to find another victim to direct his anger towards. Leonard kept on speaking. “The only reason he let that ship go was because I made him. Would’ve killed him if he hadn’t.”

That didn’t do much for the major, in fact the evidence of Spock’s cowardice in the face of imminent death angered him even more. And even Spock had looked at him with raised brows at the implication that these words would be of any use to him whatsoever. “Then he should’ve died!” major Koloth growled at him, more seething than ever.

“Yeah, well, Vulcans don’t sacrifice themselves so easily,” Leonard bluffed half-heartedly. He hadn’t a clue what a Vulcan, or Spock, deemed worthy to die for. The idea of sacrificing one captain for an entire home planet didn’t seem all that illogical to him. Nevertheless, he stuck by his statement and looked the major dead in the eyes as he did. “So,” Leonard continued, regretting his previous words almost as much as the following. “If there’s someone you want to blame, I suggest you blame me.”

The major, not only pleased with a new subject for his anger but also one who would be more reactive to it than the Vulcan captain, now faced him, bat’leth at the ready. Spock’s unimpressed mien forgotten, he approached the cell and smiled. “Tell me, McCoy. Do you know where they are.”

“Yes,” Leonard replied.  

“You will tell us where they’ve gone,” the major said.

“You’d have to be a bit more convincing than that,” Leonard replied.

The major smiled, it was not a pleasant sight. “When we are done with you you will have no more secrets to tell.” The major was pleased, extremely so. He dropped his bat’leth to the floor and turned back to Captain Spock.

“I will take your prisoner,” the major announced to Spock in a tone as if to contend him. Seeing as the major would’ve loved to blow up the whole dock if he could, this was but a minor compensation after all.

As for Leonard himself, he felt the last stop nearing from a long and bumpy ride.

“I will arrange your departure from Vulcan Space Dock,” Spock replied. He stepped away from his broken console at last and walked towards Leonard, who was still standing where the prison threshold had been.

Spock looked at Leonard, his expression blank as a slate like usual. “According to protocol all crimes committed on Vulcan territory are to be tried by the Vulcan judiciary. I will make an exception for this Mr. McCoy.”

Leonard looked away from Spock to the major, held his hands up, wrists pressed together. “You needn’t bother with the trial really,” he said.

The major ignored him, still clearly unsatisfied, nostrils still flaring. “And what of _your_ treason captain?” he asked Spock. “Are your people so weak that they will not even punish the incompetent?”

Spock paused before he spoke, words well chosen as he always did. “Most likely my actions will be examined by the Vulcan High Council.”  

The major’s eyes narrowed. “And your kind are so depraved of pride even this does not concern you,” he said, as if he pitied Spock.

“I am unconcerned because it was inevitable and long overdue,” Spock replied, though he made no attempt to elaborate. He stood up from his chair and removed his captain’s jacket, folding it neatly over his chair so that he stood in front of the major with nothing but the black regulation sweater underneath. “Seeing as he is still my prisoner, I would like to request you let me escort him to your ship. As a last honor as captain.”

Spock walked to the side of the prison cell, took a pair of handcuffs and stood before Leonard, almost offering it to him. Leonard held his hands up in front of him and let them be shackled. “I’m almost honored this is such a big deal to you, Spock,” he muttered under his breath. Eyes sliding from him to the major.

“Stay sharp, doctor,” Spock replied, his voice just as low, so that the major couldn’t hear. In fact, Leonard wasn’t even sure _he’d_ heard. And if he did, what the hell it meant.

He was still staring at Spock when Spock grabbed him by the shoulder and led him through the doors of the captain’s quarters, which was still filled with the Klingon officers the major had brought. The major was following behind them both, which could be heard by the sharp sound his bat’leth made as it scratched along the ground, and his heavy footsteps accompanying it.

The hallway led to a turbolift. And the three of them, followed by two Klingon and two Vulcan officers entered the lift.

“Where would you like to go major?” Spock asked. A question that surprised Leonard, who had pressed himself to the closest wall as far as possible from Klingons, as well as the major, who looked at Spock with dark eyes.

“To our ship,” the major growled, visibly grabbing his bat’leth tighter.

“You will not  pass through the promenade then?” Spock enquired, he held his hand on the terminal and waited.

“What is the meaning of this?” The major turned towards Kroth, one of the two soldiers who accompanied them. “The Vulcan makes fun of us!” he bellowed, and Leonard thought he felt the whole lift shake.

Kroth opened his mouth, then closed it, then decided the best action was to direct his anger back at Spock. “We know that our ship is not on the promenade!” he said. “It is at the dock!”

“Correct,” Spock replied. “However, I thought in sight of your victory you would prefer the promenade.”

Leonard didn’t move, but his eyes shifted back towards the Klingons, who needed less than a minute to huddle together and decide that that was what they wanted all along. And because Leonard had no idea what was happening, he did what he almost never did in his life.

He bit his tongue and waited.

When the turbolift stopped and the doors opened in the promenade, he took a step forward to get out. But Spock’s hand on his lower arm clenched him so tight he had to control himself to not cry out in pain and try to pry loose.

The major and his men excited the turbolift, and Leonard could see the side of the major’s mouth creeping up into a smile when he noticed the people in the promenade scurrying and hiding at his presence.

Spock clenched him even tighter, and began to walk, so Leonard had no choice but to follow. The two Vulcan officers following behind.

It was a quiet procession but not an uneventful one. Everybody knew Leonard, and he could see the fear and worry in the eyes of the patrons, vendors, beggars and refugees on the promenade. How they whispered and pointed. Because during wartime anything constant, even a dingy bar, could be something to hold onto as hope. And his leaving would be the end of that.

With the way Spock was holding him, Leonard felt like driven cattle. H wanted to say as much to Spock, right as they were passing where The Pink Tribble was. But by then Spock had let him go. Suddenly. He stumbled. Almost losing his balance.

Then he heard a scream, the sharp noise of a phaser being fired. And the roar of Klingons, the sound of metal on metal.   

He ducked, just in time for a bat’leth to miss his neck. And almost fell on his face when he’d done so until he noticed that his cuffs, which he was sure he was trapped in before, easily came loose, and he held himself steady on the ground with his hands.

The chaos of running people disorientated him, and it took a second for him to realize what was going on.

Then he noticed a small number of people, some human, some Vulcan and other species run out of the Pink Tribble with phasers in hand. Aiming at the Klingons and shooting to kill.

Ge crouched down to the floor, guarding himself, when something strong grabbed him by the back of his shirt and pulled him to his feet. He twisted round and saw it was Spock, bleeding from his brow, free hand clenched around a phaser. He shot with it at the general direction of the Klingons. Sparks flying as he hit a fuse instead.

“Come,” he said, and pulled Leonard by the arm towards the Pink Tribble. Leonard ran as fast as he could, through the crowd which tried their own best to take cover.

He felt the heat each time enemy fire grazed by his body.

The assailants at the Pink Tribble made way for the both of them and even though Spock was still pulling him along, Leonard recognized a number of them and instinctively began looking for Boyce. He was nowhere to be seen.

They reached the back of the bar and Spock opened the door that led to the back of the Tribble, then another that led to the narrow alleyway behind. The fire was now further away, far enough for Spock to let go of him at least. But they kept running through so many back alleys of the promenade that by the time they reached another door, Leonard wasn’t even sure where he was or where it could lead.

Behind the door was another hall.

Spock turned a corner, then another, then finally stopped at another door, the type for locking simple storage. When it opened it showed nothing of the sort though.

Leonard preceded Spock into a cobbled together transporter room, two pads on a low plateau.

Confused he looked at Spock, who ignored him. He walked up to the control panel.

“Please step on the platform, doctor.”

Still confused and very winded, Leonard did what he was told. Watched Spock work, and didn’t even turn his head, only watched by his peripherals when Spock stood on the pad adjacent to his.

A familiar enveloping light and nothingness was followed by a couple of blinks on Leonard’s side when he could finally orientate himself.

They were on a shuttle, Klingon made. The sight that took every last inch of Leonard’s hope sink, a wobbly feeling that reached all the way from his head down to his knees. It took him a couple of seconds before he realized that the ship was empty except for them. And it wasn’t for Spock stepped away from the small platform the second after they energized.

Leonard followed into the bridge.

“Wait.” Leonard slipped into the door, just before it closed again. “Hey” he said. “What are you doing? Spock!”

“We are escaping, doctor. Obviously.”

“Obviously my ass. One second I’m getting shot at, and the next-“ he stopped talking. Out from the window of the shuttlecraft he could still see Vulcan Space dock, close and quiet. He walked up to the glass.

“Sit down doctor, we are engaging at warp.”

Not feeling that it was the time to protest, Leonard sat down.

The universe began to disappear in front of him, along with Vulcan Space Dock, which at that exact moment seemed so quiet and peaceful, it was almost more beautiful than it was. Then it was gone, as they moved through blurry lights of stars, for minutes that felt like hours.

Then the shuttle stopped, and around them, there was nothing.

Leonard looked at Spock who sat opposite, his eyes level, perhaps resting.

“Hey, Spock?” he began, determined to know everything, but to begin with the most important question.

“Yes, doctor.”

“Do they know where we are?”

“No, but they can find us.” Spock replied, still pushing and pulling at buttons and levers that Leonard knew nothing about. “I will turn off all power sources except for life support and a long wave communication line.”

Leonard watched Spock work until he sat down in the chair next to him.

“Are you ready to explain to me what the hell just happened, Spock?”

“What just happened, doctor. Is that I have saved your life.”

“And I am forever grateful. But you’re going to have to do better than that!”

“ _CaPtAin…..Tthis is ……….CAPtain…..copy?”_

They both looked when the communications line picked up a signal.

Spock stood up and made some adjustments until the sound improved, but only barely.

“ _Captain, this is the Doctor speaking, do you copy?”_

Leonard finally recognized the voice, and he immediately turned towards Spock with all kinds of feelings. “You two-faced, scheming, _green-blooded_ -”

“Hello Doctor.”

Boyce laughed. _“I can tell the bartender tagged along. Good hearing from you.”_

Leonard wasn’t nearly as cheerful. He looked at Spock with narrowed eyes. “How did that old fart convince you? Logic?”

“There was no convincing involved. I have had two homes from the very start, as you well know. I could not protect one and not the other.”

“Then, Jim and Pike, they both knew? All along?”

_“They never knew, boy.”_ Boyce’s voice was as calm and mellow as ever, which made Leonard very interested where he was calling from.

“All right, fine.” Leonard stood up and yanked out a med-kit from where he knew Klingon shuttles stored them. Then flopped back on his seat. “But can someone explain why I just risked my life and spent my time in a Vulcan prison cell of all places if _Captain_ here, could’ve just beamed those two out, no questions asked.” He looked at the bit of burnt flesh on his calve and began to heal the skin with a regenerator.

“You are correct in assuming that this ship was originally intended for Pike, doctor.”

_“Who, me?”_

“No, he’s talking to me! Sush!”

Spock continued. “However, as I said before, Klingon Intelligence is very efficient. They had suspicion that their stolen good would be on Vulcan Space Dock and sent someone to investigate.”

“Major Koloth,” Leonard said.

“Yes. And with his officers having me on constant surveillance I could do nothing but simulate an investigation. A believable one.”

“So that’s why you were at the café that night.”

Spock nodded. “Unfortunately, this came with its own negative side effects.”  

“Jim didn’t trust you.” Leonard couldn’t hide the slight smile that was forming on his face. “And I’ll bet nobody could convince him otherwise.”

_“I knew better than to try,”_ Boyce said with a chipper voice. “ _Besides, I kind of knew you’d come around. That you’d get Jim off that dock somehow.”_

Leonard rolled his eyes. “And Pike, what about him?”

Boyce chuckled. “ _A bit of a gamble, the Captain didn’t think you would do it.”_

Leonard looked at Spock, who arched his brow. “You humans are very illogical.”

Leonard’s head was spinning a little, he leaned back in his chair, thinking. He wanted so many things at once. He wanted to slap Boyce for being right, he wanted to ask a million other questions to Spock and he wanted something that outweighed everything else.  

“Where is he? Can I,” Leonard lost his breath when he spoke, and had to take a small breath. “Can I talk to him?”

“ _Soon_ ,” Boyce replied, and from the tone of his voice Leonard could tell that he was not lying. “ _But for now I’d like to give you the coordinates for your safe journey_.”

“Where to?” Leonard asked Spock, but it was Boyce who replied.

“ _That depends on where you want to go_.”

Leonard looked at Spock, who explained by relaying the coordinates on a starmap on the display. He pointed his finger to two different dots on the map, and Leonard recognized them both instantly. Earth and Axanar.

“ _One leads home and the other to its battleground_ ,” Boyce said, although he could not possibly know see that they had already mapped the routes out. “ _I wouldn’t have to explain what you’ll find at both spots, but I gotta say, once you’re there, there won’t be a chance to turn back any more. Remember that_.”

Leonard didn’t need to think about it. He knew where Jim was, and hell, even if Jim weren’t there. He was certain.

“Out of the frying pan into the fire, huh?” he muttered to himself. Leonard half did not expect the giddiness that followed. The engine of the shuttle roiled, and by that time Leonard was chuckling to himself. Spock looked at him, his expression unmistakably annoyed.  “Fighting it is then.”

“ _Excellent, boy_ ,” Boyce said, his communications disconnecting, either by too much interference or on purpose.

Spock pressed the coordinates into the navigational computer of the shuttle. “I consider our chance of getting there alive somewhere about –” Spock swallowed his last word when Leonard clapped him on the back, too hard but with good intentions.

“I don’t want to know, Spock,” he said, still with a wicked grin. “I’d rather take the gamble.”

Vulcan Space Dock was too far away to see now, but maybe he’d been there so long. It was still there, in the distance. “And so what if we die?” Leonard said to no one in particular. His hands were on his armrests, warm and itching for something to do. “Are you scared, Spock?”

Spock’s eyes dropped, thinking, and it was the first time Leonard noticed him breathing. And it was the first, and perhaps the only time he thought he understood Spock. The way he understood the sick. The way he understood human beings; or pretended to anyway.

Of course Spock wasn’t afraid, why would he be?

Leonard let out a sigh in relief, his back falling against the hard and cool nacelle of the shuttle and chuckled again, he couldn’t help it. With one eye open he looked at Spock’s arched brow with newfound appreciation.

He thought about a bottle of Saurian brandy he’d left in the café, and he missed it, but only for a second.

He thought of Spock. If it was their end, he could think of no braver friend to spend his last moments with.

And he thought of a man named James Tiberius Kirk.

And he was not afraid.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments are cleaned from earlier chapters so you can download the whole tale and read it on your phone, ereader, all that stuff.
> 
> The story was based on my favorite romantic movie of all time. It took a while for that final chapter, but I'm happy with the ending and I hope you will too. 
> 
> Thank you for reading :)


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